


You're Broken and He's Beautiful

by freckleslikeconstellations



Series: You're Broken and He's Beautiful [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Mind Games, Moriarty ruining everything good as per usual, Multi, Strong Language, University, Violence, sherlock wants to be a pirate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:16:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 113,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4712381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling in love really wasn't part of your plan. Especially not at university where you're just determined to make sure that you do well enough so that you'll be able to escape the shadow of your past forever. But then you meet Mycroft. Dapper, intelligent and with a softer side to his slight cold exterior he's really not like all the other men. And you fall hard. But as your feelings for Mycroft grow everything that you've been trying to hide just gets closer and closer to being revealed. And you're pretty certain that when they are Mycroft won't want to know you any more. </p><p>Meanwhile your housemates have their own drama to deal with. For Greg's had a crush on Molly from the moment they met. But Molly just seems determined to get her heart broken by none other than James Moriarty. And Sherlock wants to make John more than his First Mate. But John just treats Sherlock like his little brother. So will Greg and Sherlock get what they want? Or will Molly and John end up with other people?</p><p>Whatever happens though one thing's guaranteed as you all start university and that's, that none of your lives will ever be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our New Housemate

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm back! :D 
> 
> Firstly before we get onto this story I'd like to thank you all for your support on my other stories. I really do appreciate it and I'm constantly being amazed by the love being thrown my way so thank you. :) 
> 
> And now [rubs hands] onto this story. :) I'm not certain yet how many parts this series will have to it-more than likely four-but this first part will consist of eight chapters so I hope you enjoy them. :) 
> 
> And now without further ado:

The train is running late to begin with. That’s the first problem. And standing on a bustling, crowded platform with your rucksack on your back, two large carry cases and a bin bag full of other stuff that you now wish you hadn't deemed necessary to bring with you as you wait is far from fun. Especially when you are forced, with all your bags, to stand with your back rammed against the wall so that you will be out of other people’s way as much as possible. Though when a rather unpleasant smelling commuter-a dark brown haired, bearded man in his forties wearing a large, green puffa jacket with a blue rucksack on his back-takes to stand next to you, you shuffle along said wall a bit and look very much like an awkward hermit crab as you drag all your things with you. Unfortunately though said smelly commuter only takes that as you moving along to give him more room. And when he shuffles along with you, you just resign yourself to his presence and look up at the electronic sign instead, in the hope that your train might no longer be delayed but instead be arriving imminently on Platform 1. Of course though it’s still delayed. Such is your luck this evening. And so you have little choice but to go back to people watching and eavesdropping on any snatches of chatter that sound interesting, whilst you try to block out the smell of the man beside you. And needless to say it’s a relief when the train finally pulls in to the station. 

 

Whilst similarly it is a relief to get off it just after ten o’ clock that night and drag all your things out of the station as a message blares across the tannoy and onto the street instead. Even if it is dark and drunken shouts fill the chilly air, and even if you do have to walk three streets away and up a short hill, before you get to your accommodation. And after clambering up the hill you stop for a moment just to breathe freely, glad that although the street has two rows of houses there’s hardly anyone around, just a couple crossing the road further down the street, so you can actually dump your things on the ground without worrying that anyone might run off with them. Then, becoming more aware of the stillness all around you and starting to feel intimidated because of such a thing you make your way further down the street, eyeing the numbers on each door, before finally catching sight of a no 26, thanks to the help of a street lamp on an orangey red door. So you pull everything towards the door, before you drop it down and then knock. No one comes, probably because of the loud music and laughter that you can hear coming from inside so you knock again, a little louder this time. The music stops then and there’s movement, before the door is flung open before you. And a woman who looks in her mid-twenties stands there, half-illuminated in the light coming from the hallway behind her, her brown hair scrunched up in a pony tail, wearing two vest tops, a yellow one underneath covered by a pink one and denim shorts with a pack of gum in one hand and a cigarette in the other. And she looks friendly enough but in truth you feel a little intimidated by her. For she must have only recently moved in herself but she looks right at home, whilst you feel completely out of place. 

 

So, “Um, I think I'm your new housemate,” you tell her when she does nothing but stare at you. 

 

And she looks you up and down for a moment. Then, “Oh no, I don’t think so lovely, there’s only five of us here and all the rooms are already filled,” she says. 

 

And you can feel a flush starting to curve around your neck now and panic beginning to rise within you as you start to feel stupid. So you end up spluttering, “No, I'm sure I'm supposed to be here, that’s what it said, um”- and you break off now to try and find the papers that will prove such a point in your bag. But of course they’re neither in the first one, nor the second and by the time you find them in the third and straighten up the woman’s looking at you with a pitying expression on her face. 

 

So, trying to quash it, you unfold the papers and say, “Look,” before you brandish them in front of her. 

 

And she takes them and then steps back a little, tilting them towards the light so that she can read them, before she sees that you’re correct. But as she passes them back to you all she offers you is a helpless kind of shrug and the words, “You could try the campus. There’s probably a party going on in the student union. Maybe there’ll be someone there who has a room.” Then she closes the door in your face. 

 

So you have little choice but to gather your things together and drag them with your arms aching down the rest of the street, around the corner and up another hill, before you turn right onto the campus. And unfortunately for you after a nice long stretch of walking down a pathway you have to drag all your things up two lots of steps, before you turn right towards the student union. 

 

The reception is dimly lit and everything looks a gloomy, dull brown. There’s no one around so you swallow, wondering if you should just turn around and go out. But then a door opens from somewhere near the back of the building and you can hear the dull thump, thump of music. So, feeling a little bolder now you know that life actually _does_ exist in this building after all, you drag your things and go steadily towards it. 

 

And the woman was right after all. There is a party going on. And the blaring music and strobe lights assault your ears and eyes as you shoulder the door open, whilst bodies grind and move in the semi-darkness as people dance and laugh with plastic cups full of cheap beer in their hands. And you swallow because everything’s too loud and all you want to do is store your things somewhere and rest, preferably after a cup of tea. But without anywhere _to_ rest, you have little choice but to drag your things forwards as inconspicuously as you can, which is no mean feat in itself, before you go to interrupt a small group of dancers. 

 

And, “Um, excuse me? Can you help me? I'm trying to find a room to stay in?” you ask in a loud awkward voice and everyone half-stops what they’re doing to look at you either questioningly now, or with disgust in their eyes at you daring to interrupt them. Still, at least you can see everyone more clearly now, and in particular your eyes catch sight of a girl who has done a really bad job of dying her hair blonde, a man with stringy, brown hair that reminds you of runner beans and a tall man who is wearing a large red American football shirt and probably has the accent to go with it. Then there’s a bout of head shaking and mutters, before they shift away from you and your mountain of bags. 

 

And you almost feel like crying now because of the sheer tiredness that you feel from carrying your bags more than anything else. But you can’t give up now. So you go around a bit and ask anyone you see but the answer is always the same. And in the end, despairingly, you have little choice but to grab everything and pull it all back out of the student union. Yet at least you might have some room and peace outside to think of your next move, you muse. 

 

But it is even darker now. The sky is navy and full of thin wispy clouds, whilst the full moon provides the only light. And it is cold too, _freezing_ in fact. Your breath hangs in front of you as you pause to adjust your load, whilst you decide what on earth to do next. And you’re just supposing that if the worst comes to the worst, which you suppose it already has, you’ll just have to find somewhere to stay for the night, when a figure steps forwards to come level with you from your right. So you start a little and swing your head to look. 

 

And a man, tall and thin stands there, his body shrouded in a thin, long warm-looking black coat and a blue scarf around his neck. His skin looks pale in the moonlight and his blue eyes glimmer as they look at you, whilst smoke curls up into the air from the cigarette that dangles idly from one of his hands.

 

Then in the next moment he finishes the cigarette, before he crushes it beneath his heel as he says, “There’s a room free where I'm staying if you’re looking for somewhere.”

 

And you’re taken aback by this so you end up blurting out, “Are you sure?” before you clamp your teeth down hard onto your bottom lip. For why on earth are you protesting? You should be thanking whoever this man is and telling him to show you where it is so that you can finally sort your things out and not have to carry them any more. 

 

But the stranger just smiles at you, before he extends a hand out to you and says, “Sherlock Holmes.”

 

So, “Oh F/N L/N,” you say, before you drop what you’re carrying in your right hand so that you can shake his. 

 

And as soon as he lets go he picks up what you've dropped and takes both it and another bag in the same hand and begins to walk off. So you hurry after him with the rest of your things. 

 

Then, “Thank you,” you tell him as soon as you step beside him. 

 

So he jerks his head forwards. Then, “So I'm assuming your accommodation fell through?” he asks you. 

 

And, “Yeah,” you begin a little awkwardly and if your hands weren't full this is where you’d be running a self-conscious hand through your hair. 

 

Then there’s a moment’s silence and all you can hear are both of your footsteps clapping against the road as you walk along its middle along with both of your soft breaths. 

 

“So how many of you are there where you’re staying?” you ask him curiously now as you turn your head sideways to look at him and adjust your grip on one of your bags as you pass by a street light. 

 

And he stows his free hand in his pocket as the breeze whips up the bushes either side of you and makes them shiver, before, “Oh, there’s only one of me,” he begins teasingly and you grin a bit. Then he answers the question more seriously when he says, “There’s me, my brother Mycroft, Molly and Gary,” and a moment later he adds as an afterthought, “I think you’ll get on with Molly even if you don’t with anyone else, she’s a bit shy like you.”

 

So you blush now because your shyness is something that you've been trying to work on. Then you say hurriedly to cover it, “So you’re called Sherlock and your brother’s Mycroft? Your parents must have”-

 

“Been on drugs when they named us, yes,” Sherlock says humorously and you let out a bark of laughter now, which seems to echo down the cold, empty street as it makes him smile. 

 

Then, “Oh I wasn't suggesting that,” you say as your eyes catch sight of a light being switched off in one of the houses to your right, before you add, “It’s just unusual that’s all.”

 

And Sherlock nods, before he makes a sudden turn to the right and you have to trot a bit to keep up with him. 

 

Then, “So are you all the same age as each other?” you ask curiously, your teeth nearly chattering now as the air seems to turn colder as you take a right, before you both make your way slowly downhill.

 

And, “The other’s are eighteen,” Sherlock tells you now. Then he hesitates a moment, before he goes on with a thin veil of pride in his tone, “But I'm sixteen, I got in two years early”-

 

So, “Wow,” you exclaim, looking impressed more than anything else and Sherlock looks relieved that you don’t seem to be on the verge of calling him a derogatory name. Then, “So what are you studying?” you ask him. 

 

So, “Chemistry,” he replies, before he gives you a sideways glance and then says, “But you’re doing English Literature aren’t you?”

 

And you nod now. Then, “How did you know?” you ask him and he smiles as he looks away from you once more. 

 

Then, “Oh your manner and demeanour rather prompted me towards that area, not to mention that I can see a classic text or two in the bin bag you’re carrying,” and he gives a little pause now, before he goes on, “That Oscar Wilde quote badge on your rucksack rather gave it away too.”

 

“So it was kind of obvious then?” you grin and he smiles. 

 

Then, “It’s just down this way,” he informs you, and he touches your arm with his free hand briefly now to guide you towards the left, before he stops at the first house just around the corner and you take a moment to look at it. It’s hard to see it properly in the darkness but it looks like an old and beaten sort of place that has probably been used for student accommodation for years, if not decades, the exterior being a dull grey-brown. Then you follow Sherlock as he leads you down some narrow black steps towards the basement door. 

 

And you’re breathing hard by the time you enter so you stop for a moment and take in the narrow hallway with its white paint, chipped and peeling and the doors that are ajar on both sides. Then you follow Sherlock up the narrow, white staircase that is immediately to your left. 

 

And he takes you two doors down to your right and then shoves the second door open, before, “Well, this is you,” he announces. Then he goes to put your things down so you follow him inside. 

 

It’s nothing more than a box room with a bed in the right-hand corner, a desk with a small shelf above it to your left and a small wooden wardrobe with a chest of drawers directly in front of you. But still it feels like paradise after dragging your things around for so long so you bend down to dump them on the floor besides where Sherlock put the others. 

 

Then, “You should probably get some rest,” Sherlock tells you, before he promptly leaves your room a moment later.

 

And you just stare after him for a moment, before you decide that though you could do with a cup of tea you’re really more tired than thirsty after all. So you abandon the idea of unpacking and just get your pyjamas out of your bag instead. Then you change and slip into bed and your head barely hits the pillow, before you fall asleep.

*

When you wake it is only half-past six according to your watch and there’s only a dim light filtering through to your room. But then comes the smell of bacon from downstairs and suddenly you realize how hungry you are, not to mention how thirsty. So you get out of bed, dress hurriedly and make your way downstairs. You’re not sure where the kitchen is of course so you just go towards where you can hear the sound of someone clattering about towards the left. And it turns out that you've picked correctly for you find yourself in a small square room, which has the kitchen off to the left-just a small area with a sink, silver fridge, oven and microwave along with the usual cupboards and counters-and a small circular white dining table in the middle, whilst a further two rooms are hidden behind two doors on the right. 

 

Sherlock’s by the oven and so, “Morning,” you tell him, feeling glad to see his familiar face. 

 

But, “The downstairs toilet is the one on the left, though there’s a proper bathroom at the end of the corridor upstairs,” Sherlock informs you without even a _‘Good morning,’_ in response, his head looking briefly at you over his shoulder as he adjusts one of the dials on the oven. 

 

So, “Oh, thank you,” you tell him, before you make to assist him in the kitchen. 

 

But he just waves a hand at you, before he says, “It’s all right, Chemistry remember? I've got this. You go and sit down,” and so after a moment’s hesitation you go across and drag one of the stiff looking dark wooden chairs back from the head of the table, before you sit down on it. 

 

And once you do so you make a little happy sound in your throat and half-close your eyes because it feels so good to know that in a few minutes time you’ll be getting rid of your hunger without even having had to prepare any of the food yourself. 

 

Sherlock doesn't let you float away with such thoughts though. For he’s hardly being quiet as he cooks. In fact it seems like he’s making as much noise as possible and you’re beginning to wonder if he’s always this loud when he cooks or if he’s just doing it for your benefit when the door that is not the one to the toilet opens. So you swivel your head around to see who it is. 

 

A tall man steps out and a blush immediately takes over your face, for he’s merely wearing a thin grey vest and blue boxer shorts and your eyes can’t help but wander down to fix upon his long, firm looking legs, before they dart up again to his face as he runs a weary hand across it and back through his auburn hair. Then he still looks half-asleep as he begins to say, “Sherlock, what are you”- but when his eyes fall upon you he freezes up, his hand still in mid-air, before a blush crosses his face as he hurriedly turns around again and hurtles back into the room from which he emerged, closing the door behind him firmly. 

 

And you can’t help but snort a little at such an action. So Sherlock shares an amused smile with you, before, “ _Who_ was that?” you ask, your mind going back to the nice, lightly freckled legs in spite of yourself. 

 

And, “ _That_ ,” Sherlock says, “Was my brother Mycroft,” so your eyes dart back sub-consciously to the door that Mycroft’s somewhere behind now, before they go back to Sherlock as he continues, “He’s usually more talkative though,” with a little smile upon his face as he slides the bacon onto two plates from the frying pan. 

 

Mycroft meanwhile, as he hurriedly dresses, is finding that his blush is taking a while to cool down. For how embarrassing that such a thing should happen in front of a complete stranger! And he can’t help but wonder, as he thrusts one leg into his trousers, who you are now. 

 

Then once he’s dressed and looking his usual smart self he combs his hair carefully in front of the small oval mirror that hangs on the wall in his room, whilst he wonders if he should wait for you to leave, before going back out again. But no, he thinks, as he returns his yellow comb to his drawer now, it will only look obvious if he does such a thing and like he’s very embarrassed about it all, which he is of course, but he doesn't need _you_ to know that. So he smoothes himself down one last time and takes a deep breath, before he places a hand on the doorknob and twists it open. 

 

And the first thing he notices is that you’re sitting by the table as you finish off your breakfast. Whilst Sherlock is standing close by as he eats his. So he strides across to the table as if he’s feeling entirely confident about the whole thing and your eyes dart to him briefly at his approach, before they flick back down again. Then he reaches his arm out across to grasp hold of one of the empty china cups-a gift from Mummy-upon the table. And as he does a clink of china sounds out as it taps against another cup, so he clears his throat a little. 

 

And at the sound your eyes can’t help but dart up to him again, and it’s not very long before you’re thinking that he looks very smart in his blue sweater vest over a crisp, white shirt, red tie and smart black trousers. And too your eyes can’t help but linger for a moment longer on his trousers as you remember the legs that are beneath them. 

 

But Mycroft feels your gaze and so he stops in the act of pouring his tea and looks at you, feeling momentarily flattered at where your eyes are, before he gets a hold of himself and clears his throat again. 

 

So your eyes dart up to his face at once and a blush crosses over the middle of your nose and cheeks as you see that he’s fixing his blue eyes on you now. 

 

Then as he looks away from you and continues with pouring his tea he says as airily as he can, “You’ll have to forgive me for earlier. I didn't realize we had a guest.”

 

But when you don’t automatically reply he looks at you again, this time curiously, as he settles the teapot back upon the table. 

 

So, “She’s not a guest,” Sherlock says and Mycroft’s gaze goes to him now as he raises an eyebrow and he’s just about to ask who you are if you’re not a guest when Sherlock adds with some satisfaction in his tone, “She’s our new housemate.”

 

And Mycroft’s lips part a little now and surprise flickers in his eyes, before he regains himself as he turns back to you. Then he says, “In that case you’ll have to forgive me for not introducing myself sooner. I'm Mycroft Holmes,” and he extends a hand towards you now. 

 

So you grasp it, before you shake it briefly; just long enough to discover how smooth his skin feels as the words, “F/N L/N,” spill out of your mouth. 

 

And, “She’s got the last room upstairs,” Sherlock informs Mycroft as Mycroft takes a piece of toast out of the rack on the table and plops it down on a clean plate, before he draws across the butter and knife and you return to finishing off your breakfast. 

 

So, “Yes, why wasn't I allowed to have that room brother dear?” Mycroft asks, his voice cool as he raises his head to look across at Sherlock. 

 

And, “Oh you can”- you begin hurriedly, but Mycroft stops you with a gesture of his hand, his eyes still firmly on Sherlock. 

 

Then, “Because, as you well know,” Sherlock begins, “We drew lots and as always _brother dear_ you got the shortest straw.” 

 

And you can’t help but snort now and Mycroft casts you a sharp, disapproving gaze so you shrug at him as innocently as you can, before you busy yourself with cutting up your remaining bacon.

 

Then, “Its all worked out so well now hasn't it?” Sherlock asks and Mycroft looks at him as if to ask, _‘How so?’_ So, “Well, what with F/N coming,” Sherlock continues, “Even if you had taken the bedroom upstairs you would have had to move out wouldn't you?” and Mycroft gives him a look as if to ask, _‘Oh, would I?’_ “For of course, what with you being such an old fashioned gentleman, as Mummy’s always calling you, you wouldn't have been able to let her stay in a room that’s next to a potentially smelly bathroom would you?” and Mycroft frowns now, whilst you swallow and duck your head. 

 

Then in the next moment Mycroft looks relieved when a young woman with long brown hair that’s tied back in a neat ponytail and who’s wearing a warm looking pink cardigan over a brown and white stripy top along with jeans enters the room. And, “Ah Molly,” he says, “Come and meet our new housemate F/N,” and he waves a hand at you now so you smile at her.

 

Then, “Hello,” she says, a big, welcoming smile on her face as she approaches you.

 

So, “Hi,” you grin, feeling like she’ll be easy to get along with as she hugs you quickly, whilst Mycroft watches the pair of you looking pleased. 

 

Then, “Why don’t you go and wake Gregory, Sherlock? So that we can introduce him to F/N?” Mycroft says and you look at him oddly now because you were sure that Sherlock had said he had a Gary living with him, _not_ a Gregory, whilst Sherlock looks for a moment as if he might ask why Mycroft doesn't go to wake him himself. But in the end he goes across and drops his dirty plate into the sink, before with a little huff he slouches out of the room. 

 

And Mycroft watches after him with a frown, before he turns his attention back to Molly and you as Molly sits down on your right and asks, “So where are you from F/N?” 

 

And, “Brighton now,” you answer her, before you add, “But I moved about a lot before that.”

 

So, “For any particular reason?” Mycroft asks you as he slides into a chair on your left, and for a moment his knee brushes against yours and you look at him so he moves it away again, whilst he clears his throat a little. 

 

Then, “Um no, not really, my parents have just never been the type to settle down in one place for too long,” you reply. 

 

And, “That must have been a bit disruptive for your education?” Mycroft asks you and he’s not intending it to be as serious as it comes out sounding, he’s just curious. 

 

But of course, not knowing Mycroft, you just see it as him being serious so your body stiffens a little, before, “I guess it was,” you say softly. 

 

Yet, “Still not disruptive enough for you to not get into university though,” Molly says, evidently trying to lighten things and you smile at her gratefully now. 

 

Then in the next moment you start a little as Mycroft’s hand comes to rest cautiously upon the one of yours that is holding the fork loosely inside it and your head turns to look at him as he withdraws his hand. 

 

So, “I didn't mean to cause any offence,” he tells you now, genuinely looking a little worried that he might have upset you. 

 

And you feel a touch of surprise at hearing such words, before, “It’s fine,” you say quietly, but Mycroft can tell that it isn't and he feels bad. 

 

Then you all look towards the door as the sound of talking and footsteps heralds Sherlock’s return. 

 

And a slightly shorter man follows him with rather shaggy dark brown hair and chocolate eyes. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that says **‘Music is in my Soul,’** in bold, white letters and scruffy jeans. 

 

And, “Ah Gregory, you’re up as usual after everyone else,” Mycroft greets him and he feels pleased when he catches you smiling at his words. 

 

“So I would still be in bed right now, having a nice dream about two women seeing to my every whim, whilst I”- Gregory begins.

 

But, “I think that’s quite enough of that,” Mycroft informs him and he intends to introduce you to Gregory then, but before he can Sherlock snorts and so his gaze moves to him instead. Then, “Is something funny brother dear?” he asks his brother with a cool politeness. 

 

And, “Actually it is,” Sherlock says, before as Mycroft’s expression clearly tells him, _‘Well do go on, I'm all ears,’_ he continues, “For you’re one to talk.”

 

And there’s a brief silence now, one where Greg exchanges a look with Molly, whilst he looks intrigued as he raises his eyebrows and you stop eating to listen properly, feeling apprehensive as you do so. 

 

Then, “What’s that supposed to mean?” Mycroft asks, wondering as he does so whether he really wants to know. 

 

So, “It means,” Sherlock begins, looking a bit smug now, “That although you supposedly can’t bear to listen to tales of Gareth’s wet dreams”-and Gregory opens his mouth somewhat indignantly now, although indignant about _which_ bit you don’t know, whilst Molly stifles a giggle-“You were quick enough to show F/N your legs this morning”-

 

So, “That was an accident,” Mycroft says a little heatedly, his face turning red and you can feel a blush forming on your own face too as you duck your head in embarrassment. 

 

But, “Hey, what’s this?” Gregory asks now, looking between the pair of you with a wicked grin on his face and Molly looks similarly intrigued. 

 

And Mycroft tries to brush the whole thing off by waving a hand but, “Hey, you can’t just brush it aside,” Gregory tells him mischievously, before, “If you’re calling dibs on the new girl Mycroft then we need to know”-

 

So, “I'm not calling dibs on _anyone_ ,” Mycroft splutters. 

 

But Sherlock only makes things worse when he says, “There I was, cooking a nice breakfast for us all,” and he’s clearly enjoying himself now, much to Mycroft’s chagrin, “And there was F/N, sitting by the table patiently, when she got the biggest shock she’d ever had in her life at my brother emerging from his room in only his underwear”-

 

So, “I had a vest on too,” Mycroft protests as Gregory laughs and slaps him on the shoulder as if it was something that he’d done deliberately.

 

But Sherlock just goes on, “Showing off his legs to all and sundry. And when he hurried off to get properly dressed F/N was pretty much ready to leave, preferring life on the streets then to take the risk of seeing such legs again”-

 

So, “That’s not true,” you blurt out as Greg laughs, Molly giggles and Mycroft continues to look rather affronted by the accusations made against him. 

 

And to try and rescue the situation Mycroft, when the laughter finally dies down, says a little stiffly, “Why don’t you say a proper hello to our new housemate Gregory?” 

 

So, “Housemate?” Gregory questions him with a frown, before, “We’re not in jail Mycroft,” he reprimands him, and as you let out a little laugh, which makes Mycroft glower, Gregory’s eyes fall on you and a boyish sort of smile lights up his face underneath his messy hair. Then he says, “Gregory Lestrade, but call me Greg please, 'ello,” before he comes to hug you quickly. Then, “Right,” he says as you both draw apart from each other, “I'm going back to try and dream that dream again,” and with that he turns and goes back upstairs. 

 

So you look around at the others feeling bemused. Then, “Is he always like that?” you ask. 

 

And, “Pretty much yes,” Sherlock says, so you grin a bit, already feeling like you might come to like it here very much. 

 

*

 

An hour later Molly’s reading by herself in the living room, her knees drawn up and her book propped up against them as she sits on the brown settee, when Greg comes in carrying a plate of toast. And she starts a little when he sits down next to her with a small thump. For she can’t know that he’s liked her ever since the moment he first saw her when he moved in. Or that the smile she gave him then as she helped him with his luggage had helped him decide that he wants to get to know her better if he can. 

 

So, “It wasn't any good,” he tells her with a bit of a grin on his face. 

 

And Molly’s brow furrows now. Then, “What wasn't?” she asks as she turns her head so that she can properly look at him. 

 

But he stretches his legs out now, his plate resting a little precariously on his lap and Molly swallows and looks away at the sight of his top riding up a little to reveal the lightly tanned skin beneath it. Then she looks back at him a moment later when he explains, “I couldn't dream that dream again.”

 

And, “Oh,” is Molly’s first reaction, and for some reason that she can’t understand she feels a little disappointed, before she recovers quickly enough with a small smile as she asks, “So I take it you’re properly up now then?” 

 

And he bites into his toast now, before he nods with his mouth bursting. Then he chews for a moment and swallows, before he asks, “Yep, where’s everyone else?”

 

So, “Mycroft’s doing something in his room, Sherlock’s gone to see John I think and F/N’s unpacking upstairs,” Molly replies, and then she pauses as she looks away momentarily, before she looks back to Greg as she asks a moment later, “She seems really nice doesn't she?”

 

And, “Who F/N?” Greg asks around another mouthful of toast now. Then Molly nods. So, “Yeah, she does,” Greg agrees, before he nods to the book that she’s reading and asks, “What’s that?” So Molly shows him the book’s cover and as soon as Greg sees that it’s a boring looking medical one he exclaims, “Blimey, you’re starting early aren't you?” 

 

And Molly blushes a little now, before, “Oh, I've been scanning it more than reading it properly”-

 

But, “Scanning it very intently going by the pages that you've turned down,” Greg tells her now. 

 

Yet, “It’s quite interesting really,” Molly says. 

 

So, “I’ll take your word for it,” Greg says with a sort of disbelieving lopsided smile on his face and Molly swallows, before she looks at her knees. 

 

Then there’s a moment’s silence between them, before, “So what are your plans for today?” she asks him as she looks back at him. 

 

And, “Oh I’ll probably just go and watch the football game that’s on up at the uni. They've got a match on every day for the next five days but Rob, my mate, says that today’s will probably be the best one because it’s between all the senior players and what with try-outs in a couple of weeks I need to pick up any tips that I can.”

 

And Molly can tell that beneath all his excitement, what with his sparkling eyes and slightly breathless tone, he’s nervous. So, “I'm sure you’ll get in,” she tells him and she feels happy that she said such a thing when she sees how her words make his face light up. 

 

And, “Thanks,” Greg smiles, before he nods at her book again and says, “And I'm sure you’ll do well on your course.”

 

So, “Thanks,” she smiles.

 

And there’s another moment of silence, whilst Greg finishes his toast and Molly looks away again. 

 

Then, “See you later then,” Greg says.

 

And, “Bye,” she says softly, before she turns back to her book as he gets up and leaves the room to go and wash his plate. 

 

*

 

Sherlock meanwhile has just arrived at the house where eighteen-year-old John Watson is staying at with four other people in a similar set-up to his own. 

 

And just as he did the previous day he goes around the back and pushes the wooden door open softly, before he treads down the narrow, concrete path towards the door of the house. 

 

And as he does so his mind is fizzing with everything that he and John might do today. For perhaps they'll explore the university campus more or take a walk into town. Or maybe John will show him more of his medicine textbooks and Sherlock will tell him about Chemistry experiments and the latest scientific developments and John’s mouth will drop open a little, before he’ll smile that smile that he reserves purely for when Sherlock’s impressing him. And then Sherlock will feel happy and he’ll smile back-

 

But then when he pushes the back door open and steps inside the small kitchen his thoughts stop as well as his feet. For John’s in the kitchen but he’s not alone. And Sherlock recognizes the pretty girl that John left him for at the party last night now as she sits on the counter. Her arms are crossed behind the back of John’s neck as he kisses her and her legs are wrapped around his waist. John’s hands meanwhile are on the girl’s breasts over her thin t-shirt and Sherlock frowns a little at the sight of them and everything else moving up and down, before he coughs loudly. 

 

And the effect it has is immediate. For John jerks back at once and nearly brings the girl toppling off the counter. 

 

Then, “Christ Sherlock,” John breathes.

 

And Sherlock takes him in more now. Takes in the sweat on John’s brow and the rippling muscles beneath John’s khaki t-shirt, and suddenly he feels like he has to go. So, “You don’t waste any time do you?” he says, before he turns and strides off back the way he came, leaving the back door open as he goes. 

 

But John feels worried by Sherlock’s response so he steps automatically away from Emma. Then he steps towards her once more and looks at her quickly, before, “I'm sorry,” he gets out a little breathlessly as his head turns towards the door, and then he takes off after Sherlock. 

 

And it isn't long before Sherlock can hear John’s heavy footsteps as he races to catch up with him so he turns and begins to walk backwards as John slows down. Then, “Why are you getting involved in”- and Sherlock pauses now as he struggles to find the right word, before he settles on, “All that,” as he waves his hands, “When we've only just got here?” and there’s exasperation in his tone now, whilst something dark glitters in his eyes. 

 

But, “She was just a nice girl I met at the”-

 

“Yes I know,” Sherlock growls out as he interrupts him now, before, “A nice girl at the party who fluttered her eyelashes at you and who you then decided to have sex with,” and John wrenches his mouth open now, but Sherlock goes on, “And how many more nice girls are there going to be do you think? How many more nice girls are there going to be, before you realize that you’re making exactly the same mistakes you made at school by ignoring who you really are?”

 

And John’s fists clench automatically now, whilst his heart skips a beat in his chest. Then he steps closer to Sherlock and looks around shiftily, before he says both as evenly and as quietly as he can manage, “I'm not bi Sherlock, I know you think I am because of what happened before”- and as he pauses now both of them remember the fumbling awkwardness that had occurred one night, when, after they’d both gotten a little tipsy from drinking in the park together Sherlock had pressed his cold lips clumsily against John’s before they’d just been about to leave one another, “But I'm not,” John concludes with a flourish as he comes out of the memory. 

 

Yet, “You felt something,” Sherlock says persistently. 

 

So, “I felt like I was kissing my brother or something, it weirded me out,” John protests even though Sherlock’s right and he _did_ feel something. 

 

But, _“John,”_ Sherlock says in a pleading tone now as he steps closer to him. 

 

Yet John just takes a step back. For he will not let himself fall into confusion about his sexuality again. He’s straight and that’s that. For it’s not like his life isn't bloody complicated enough as it is what with his sister drinking and being gay and constantly falling out with their parents over something or another. And now that he’s finally got a break from all that by being at university he’s not going to make things any more complicated for himself by being bi on top of it all. So he takes a deep breath to try and calm himself down. Then, “I'm thrilled that you got into uni at the same time as me and that we can still hang out and stuff, but you have no right to keep bringing that up. Or to lecture me about dating for that matter when”-

 

“When what John?” Sherlock snaps as John looks a little horrified about what he was going to say, “When I have no experience of things like that myself?” and John closes his mouth with a snap now, but Sherlock’s eyes just gleam even more, before he whirls around and marches off down the street. 

 

* 

 

You meanwhile stay out of such drama, for you spend the rest of the morning unpacking your things. And you’re just finishing hanging up your clothes in your wardrobe when you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat. So you look across at where you've left the door open to see Mycroft standing there, leaning against the door a little, with two cups of tea in his hands. 

 

And, “I thought maybe you could do with one by now,” he says and you smile at him. 

 

Then, “Thank you,” you tell him as you go across to take it from him, and the transfer is made carefully, though you can’t help but blush a little as your fingers brush against his, before you step back a little and take a sip of it. 

 

It’s warm and delicious, not to mention the way you like it so, “How did you know?” you ask him. 

 

And, “I made an educated guess,” Mycroft informs you, smiling at you briefly, before he nods at your desk and asks, “May I?”

 

So, “Of course,” you nod. 

 

And he goes across to put his tea down there. Then his eyes trail up to the books that are now on the shelf above the desk and as his finger runs across the spines you settle down on your bed to watch him, sipping at your tea as you do so. 

 

Then a few moments later he turns back to you and compliments you with the words, “You have excellent taste.”

 

So, “Oh, thanks,” you tell him, blushing a little again, before you sip some more of your tea to fill the gap. 

 

And his fingers wriggle a bit as he swallows and keeps his eyes fixed on you the whole time. Then, “I'm sorry if I upset you earlier,” he says as casually as he can. 

 

So you lower your cup to your lap now as you look at him, then, “Really, like I said earlier, it’s fine,” you tell him. 

 

And he nods, before there's a moments silence and during it he wonders if he should go. For he’s said what he came to after all. And there’s no point in just standing there on the pretence of waiting for you to finish your tea. You could be a slow tea drinker after all. Though something about you tells him that you’re not. 

 

But then you say, “Your brother deduced that I was studying English Literature without me telling him and you knew how I liked my tea, so I guess it’s a family thing?” 

 

And he studies you for a moment, wondering if you’re testing him. Then, “Yes, it’s a family thing,” he agrees, before he pauses, and not knowing that he intends to continue you let out a little disappointed breath at him not taking the chance to show off in front of you. But, “I'm guessing that he didn't say why you’re studying English Literature?” he asks you and your breath hitches in your chest now as you shake your head. So Mycroft smiles, before, “You did it because during the whole process of moving from one place to the other and with all the loneliness that, that entailed the one constant escape you had was through reading. You could lose yourself in those worlds and those characters were always your friends even when no one else was. And you've come to love it so much that you’d like nothing more than if you, one day, were to create such a world, be it in a book or elsewhere, that went on to inspire or help someone else,” he finishes. 

 

And you feel a little breathless now, for he’s described much of it perfectly. Though he can’t know just how much of an escape reading has become to you or how sometimes it feels like, after everything that's happened, the only way you can get away from everything even just for a little while. 

 

And Mycroft, not realizing the hidden depths or the pain that’s in your heart just from talking about such things, smiles at you now, before he picks up his cup of tea and makes to leave your room. 

 

But before he can go you call after him, “What are you studying?” 

 

So by the door now he turns back to look at you. Then, “International Politics and Modern Languages,” he says, and as an impressed and rather startled ‘O’ forms on your lips his own lips quirk upwards at you again, before he leaves. 

 

And as you go back to your tea you can’t help but suddenly hope that Mycroft won’t ever realize just how important reading has become to you. 

 

*

 

 **I'm sorry** , John texts Sherlock that night. 

 

And as Sherlock picks it up as he sits on his bed sulking he frowns at it for a moment. Then he tosses it down moodily on the duvet. But a moment later it buzzes again so he snatches it up with an impatient sigh. 

 

And, **Sherlock? Are you there? We can play pirates tomorrow if you want?** John’s text says and Sherlock’s lips can’t help but quirk upwards momentarily, before they become even again. 

 

So, _As long as I can be Captain_ , he texts back. 

 

And he smiles a moment later when John sends **Sure Captain. ;)**

 

But, _You know I hate emoticons_ , Sherlock sends in spite of his smile, before he adds, _They lower the tone._

 

Yet Sherlock just finds himself sighing a moment later when John simply sends, **:(**

 

*

 

Freshers week gets off to a loud start the following morning when Sherlock plays _‘Yo Ho [A Pirate’s Life For Me]’_ on the CD player in the living room and pumps up the volume the highest it can go so that it wakes you all up. And naturally the four of you all have different reactions to this. You groan, before you tug your pillow over your head and bury deeper into your duvet. Whilst Molly, resigned to the fact that she won’t be getting any more sleep, rolls out of bed tiredly and gets up. Greg swears loudly and throws his alarm clock at the floor in the hope that by making noise himself it will cancel out the racket coming from downstairs. And Mycroft, already downstairs of course since that’s where his room is and with no hope of blocking out the music, tugs on his trousers and pulls on a white shirt, whose buttons he doesn't do up, before he strides out of his room and goes to the living room. Then he switches off the CD player with one deft finger and stops a dancing Sherlock in his tracks. 

 

And as Sherlock turns to look at him Mycroft says, “I’ll be telling Mummy about this in my next phone call to her.”

 

So, “Telling her what exactly Mycroft? That I made sure everyone was up on time to make the most of Freshers week?” Sherlock retorts as he pulls the pirate hat that he’d made from newspaper off his head. And Mycroft rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way, before he goes off to make breakfast. 

 

Then Molly, Greg and you all trudge down a moment later like a short-staffed version of the seven dwarfs on their way to work. You’re wearing jeans and a f/c t-shirt, Molly’s in a cute floral dress with black tights and Greg is topless and wearing only jeans and white socks. 

 

And you take the same seat you took yesterday next to Mycroft who you mutter a sleepy, “Morning,” to. 

 

So, “Good morning,” Mycroft tells you politely, before as Molly and Greg make to leave a little gap around the table for Sherlock he informs them, “Sherlock won’t be joining us. He’s gone out already, to meet that little friend of his I believe.”

 

And Greg lets out a little snort at that. Then when you look puzzled he tells you, “What Mycroft’s fumbling telling you is that Sherlock’s gone to meet the only one who will put up with him”-

 

And, “Aside from us now,” Molly pipes up hurriedly so Greg looks at her now. 

 

Then, “Yes, aside from us now,” he agrees, before a comfortable sort of silence descends upon you all. 

 

And when you’re all ready the four of you walk to the campus together, Mycroft and Greg taking the lead and Molly and you following behind. It is a cool, crisp, clear day and the walk is a pleasant one. And the more you talk to Molly the more you find you like her. For she’s studying medicine and although as Sherlock said she’s a little shy and uncertain of herself at times her bright and cheerful personality is infectious. 

 

And, “What Greg didn't say,” she tells you, “About when we were deciding what rooms we were going to pick was that Sherlock locked Mycroft in the bathroom upstairs and then put all our bags in each of the rooms we wanted to be in, before he freed Mycroft and told him that we had already drawn lots. Mycroft was still going to take the room you’re in now but Sherlock was in a silly mood and wouldn't let him.” Then when she gets to the end she releases a little breath in her excitement, before she turns to you a bit more as she says, “I think it’s going to be fun here, don’t you?” and you nod now as your hand runs absent-mindedly across the side of a garden wall that’s covered with ivy. So, “Not just uni I mean, but staying with the boys and everything. Though I am glad you’re here, I was beginning to worry that there wouldn't be another girl. It’s much more fun this way, don’t you think?” she asks and you nod again, a little more certainly this time, so a beaming smile appears on her face and your heart can’t help but rise a little in your chest with the fresh promise of it all. 

 

Then when you all arrive and get into the main hall where people are registering and going around the information and club stalls you all stay together, much to your relief, before you queue up to register, and you talk to Molly some more as you wait. Then once everyone’s registration is complete you begin to make your way through the stalls, but Greg, impatient to get as much free things as he can darts off and Molly takes after him with a laugh. And you’re not sure what to do, but they've disappeared amongst the crowd in seconds, leaving you with Mycroft, who’s peering down at the front of a leaflet on the stall you’re by. And you’re not sure whether you should just wander off on your own, for perhaps he won’t want you with him. 

 

But then sensing your uncertainty he murmurs quietly, “We can still go around together if you like,” with his head half-turned towards you, though his eyes are still not on you, this time on the banner behind the stall instead. 

 

So, “Okay,” you say softly as you decide to stay with him. 

 

And so with that tentative decision made you move on to the next stall together.

 

*

 

“Greg wait up!” Molly says in between her laughter as she tears after him still, before in the next moment he makes a sudden stop by one of the stalls. So she joins him, then, “Is that even free?” she giggles as Greg slides a plastic bag from the stall along with a cute toy bear that’s wearing a little t-shirt with the university colours in. 

 

And, “Yes of course I'm free,” Greg says, putting on a voice now as if it’s the bear speaking and moving said bear about a little, which only makes Molly giggle some more, before she bats Greg on the arm. Then, “Free to go home with you Molly Hooper and the cute guy who you happen to be living with,” Greg says in his bear voice, before he says in his normal one, “Who me?” with a look of surprise on his face. And, “Yes, of course you, there’s really no one cuter,” the ‘bear’ says and so, “Why thank you Mr. Bear,” Greg says, giving him a little bow of his head now. 

 

But, “You can’t call the bear ‘Mr. Bear’ Greg,” Molly splutters. 

 

“But that’s his name,” Greg protests now, and then when Molly just shakes her head in exasperation at him he says, “C’mon, I want us to get more free stuff than Mycroft and F/N.”

 

So, “Do you even think they know we’re in competition with them?” Molly asks as Greg half-turns away from her after placing Mr. Bear safely into the plastic bag. 

 

And, “Nope,” Greg says cheerily now, before, “But since when has that mattered?” Then, “C’mon!” he says, and as he tears off towards the next stall she darts after him with a laugh. 

 

* 

 

Meanwhile it’s going quite well with Mycroft and you taking turns to decide which stall to go to next in between making small talk with each other when, on your way across to the Cheese, Fine Wine and Whisky society stall [Mycroft’s choice obviously] a tall, curly haired whirlwind pushes in between Mycroft and you. So you stumble to the gap on your right. But then in the next moment a steady hand curves around your waist and pulls you upright. And as your body collides with your rescuers and you see that it's none other than Mycroft a small blush takes over your face. Though he certainly doesn't notice it for he’s too busy frowning after his brother who appears to be having a sword fight with his sandy haired friend using a long piece of pink rubber as a sword. 

 

Then when they disappear Mycroft peers down at you and as he does so he realizes that he still has his hand upon your waist so he releases it with a start, before he asks, “Are you all right?” to cover the moment. 

 

So, “Yes, I'm fine, thank you,” you somehow get out, and it is a miracle that you do really for your mind is very much on the fact that you can still feel a tingling sensation on the spot where his hand just was. 

 

Mycroft doesn't seem to notice your sudden lack of mental capacity though, for he just begins to lead the way across to the stall that you were on your way to before instead. So you follow him with your head in a bit of a daze. Whilst you hope that you’re not getting a crush on him. For your plan was to just focus on your studies and participate in other things of course but not get too distracted by them. But as your eyes drift down to Mycroft’s trouser clad legs once more you can’t help but think that maybe it’s already too late for that. 

 

*

 

You meet up with Molly and Greg again for lunch and go to the small café that’s close to the student union. The fittings and furnishings inside it are modern with curved dark chairs and sleek, square white tables that have a blue vase with a white carnation in each one. And as you all sit down together with Molly and you sitting opposite each other so that you’re both by the window with Greg on Molly’s other side and Mycroft on yours Molly asks what Mycroft and you have been up to so Mycroft tells her, “Oh just the same as you really, looking around the stalls, though admittedly we didn't get anywhere near the amount of free things that you did,” and his eyes go to the bulging plastic bag of goodies that lie to the side of Greg’s feet now so Greg and Molly exchange a smile. 

 

Then, “I signed you up to every club,” a voice says a moment later, before you even get a chance to look at the menu, and so you all look to see Sherlock standing there, looking flushed with triumph beside John who has sandy hair as you noticed earlier, blue eyes and who’s wearing a stripy black and white top and jeans, “So you have to go now,” Sherlock informs Mycroft. 

 

Yet, “In that case I can assure you that I won’t be going to every club. Especially not the Pirate Society one,” Mycroft says airily, before he can’t help but add, “It was very rude of you to come crashing into F/N and I earlier on.”

 

And Sherlock gets his most innocent expression out, before he asks, “Oh was that you? I didn't notice.” Then he looks at you now and says, “In that case I'm very sorry,” sincerely and Mycroft frowns as Sherlock deliberately doesn't apologize to him. 

 

But John’s looking at you now and, “Hi, I don’t think we've met, I'm John, John Watson,” he says, before he extends a polite hand towards you now. 

 

So, “F/N L/N,” you tell him, before you lean across Mycroft a little so you can shake John’s hand and your arm brushes against Mycroft’s chest as you do so, which causes Mycroft to swallow.

 

Then before anyone can say anything more Sherlock’s taken off at a run and he shouts, “Come _on_ , John!” over his shoulder so John gives you all an apologetic look, before he scurries after him, whilst Mycroft shakes his head at his brother’s antics. 

 

*

 

Then, “She seems nice,” is the first thing that John says as soon as he catches Sherlock up outside the café on the concourse. 

 

And Sherlock can’t help but quip, “Going to sleep with her now are you?” 

 

So John huffs out a breath, before he comes to a stop now and then, “Not everything’s about that with me y’know,” he says as Sherlock stops himself, before he turns to him now. 

 

And, “Good,” Sherlock says crisply. Then, “Can we go back to the Pirate Society stall now?" he asks, before, "I want to take another look at the map they had there,” he states like a whiny child.

 

So John smiles, before, “Course,” he says and so Sherlock, looking more satisfied now, takes the lead once more. 

 

*

 

After lunch Molly and you go around together, whilst Mycroft and Greg go around by themselves rather than going around together. 

 

Then around three o’ clock Molly and you leave to go back to the house and when you arrive it is to find Greg spreading out everything free that he’s collected across the dining table, whilst Sherlock gives each object a rating. 

 

Then, “Do you think I should keep that?” Greg asks Sherlock as he points to a key ring, which has a figurine of the university’s football team dangling from it.

 

And, “Definitely not, it’s junk,” Sherlock tells him so Greg looks at it consideringly for another moment, before he pushes it to one side. But then, “John would like it though,” Sherlock adds as an afterthought, before he pockets it discreetly just as Greg notices Molly and you. 

 

So, “Hey girls, will you help me decide what to keep out of this lot?” Greg asks, leaning back a little as he does so, so that his hands aren't splayed across the table any more as he looks at the pair of you. 

 

And, “Only if we get to keep what we want to?” Molly says as you both approach the table now and Greg folds his arms as he pretends to think about it but, “I did help you get most of it after all,” Molly adds. 

 

So Greg grins, then, “Okay fair do’s,” he says, before he steps aside a little so that both Molly and you can get a good look at everything. 

 

But before you take everything in you can’t help but ask, “Is Mycroft not back yet?” 

 

And as soon as you do there’s a moment of awkward silence.

 

Then, “Nope,” Greg replies and you immediately wish that you hadn't asked the question, for he exchanges a bit of a look with Molly now, whilst Sherlock eyes you with an odd look on his face.

 

So to escape from it all you duck your head to focus on everything that’s on the table, whilst you inwardly chide yourself, for being so obvious.

 

For you can’t know that Mycroft _had_ been on his way back to the house, but on his way there, feeling a little restless from all the absent-minded scattered thoughts that had kept popping inside his head, he’d changed his mind again and decided to go for a walk instead. Even though the sky had already begun to darken a little above him and it had looked like it might rain. 

 

Or that right now as he makes his way to the park his mind is returning to the odd little thoughts he’s been having and the way his body seems to be acting more of its own accord in certain moments and how therefore he hasn't really been feeling like himself ever since you've arrived at the house. Not to mention the way he’s seemed to make himself a fool for you through first, and he blushes now, walking around in his underwear and then brushing his knee against yours, and of course then upsetting you with the comment he’d made about your education being disrupted. But the way you’d looked at his legs, he recalls now, _well_ it had started to stir something inside him. Something that he hadn't felt before. And then today, the way you’d looked after he’d touched your waist…and he’d tried to be casual about it of course. And he hopes now, as he slips inside the park and begins to stroll down the path at a steady pace, that he’d given you that impression. But inside his heart had been beating unevenly and he’d felt scared. Just like he had when your hand had brushed against his chest. Scared and eager all at the same time. Just like he does now because he’s smart enough to realize that for some reason he feels attracted to you. Smart enough to know that somehow you've managed to scale his carefully constructed walls and climb inside his mind, and though you’re creeping along quite quietly most of the time it’s like every now and then you do a little jump and set off the security alarm and make him think of you, or notice you. And he just can’t understand why or why this is happening now. For he should really just be focusing on his studies. He’d spent a great deal of his school life tutting and thinking disparaging thoughts whenever he’d seen his countless classmates getting distracted by thoughts of romance and wondering why they bothered with it all. And he’d managed to keep himself distanced from it all, but now…now you've arrived and set off this spark inside him and though he’s scared he can’t help but feel drawn to you all the same. And perhaps his body already realizes just how drawn he is, more than his mind, for somehow he’s left the park and he’s now heading back to the house, back to you… 

 

Meanwhile you’re looking at Greg’s stash. There are numerous coloured pens all with different logos on, key rings of all shapes and sizes, posters, a rubix cube in the university colours, stickers, different books of information, a set of fridge magnets with photos of the campus on them, a car sticker, a yellow mug with the university motto on and a little toy bear who wears a little t-shirt in the university colours. 

 

And Molly picks up the bear for herself immediately and Greg grins at her knowingly so, “Hey he’s cute,” Molly tells him a little defensively as she hugs the bear to her chest and Greg barks out a laugh as he raises his hands in supplication. Then, “Even cuter with his voice though right?” he asks, and Molly just blushes and bats his arm with the bear now, which only makes Greg look more pleased, whilst Sherlock rolls his eyes impatiently and you half-smile, your eyes still on the table. 

 

Then in the next moment your hands go to the stickers, which are something that you've never been able to resist. 

 

But, “Hey, I know what we should do tonight,” Molly begins excitedly and you all look at her now so she goes on, “We should order a pizza and get a bottle of wine and have a good night of getting to know each other since it’s F/N’s first proper night with us”-

 

Yet, “She was here yesterday,” Sherlock reminds Molly with a small frown, for he has little desire to stay cooped up and be made to socialize all night. 

 

“But she’d only just got here,” Molly pouts at him now, whilst her eyes go all wide like that of a Japanese anime character.

 

And though Sherlock rolls his eyes he knows too that he’s not going to win so he doesn't protest again. 

 

So that’s how you all end up sitting on the floor around the coffee table in the living room, your back and Molly’s resting against the settee with Sherlock and Greg on the other side of the table, which has a pizza box open upon it and four glasses of wine in various states of depletion. 

 

The conversation is being generated from random questions that anyone can think of beginning with _‘Have you ever…?’_ and you’re all just sharing war stories on the question ‘Have you ever been sick in a really inappropriate place?’ courtesy of Greg and feeling very loose and relaxed when Mycroft returns. And the conversation pauses at the sound of him. Then as Greg and Sherlock giggle childishly at the sound of Mycroft going to the kitchen to see if he can find you all, you take a small sip of wine with an amused smile on your face, whilst Molly listens with her head cocked on one side. And there comes the sound of more trudging footsteps, before finally Mycroft peers around the living room door and enters properly when he sees you all there. 

 

Then, “Finally Mycroft, I thought you’d either been abducted, or that, God forbid you’d got laid,” Sherlock says and Greg howls with laughter, tears streaming down his face at the look of horror on Mycroft’s face, whilst Molly giggles and you drink some more wine hurriedly. 

 

So, “Is that what you’re calling it these days?” Mycroft asks Sherlock, before he informs him, “Actually I was just changing my name to yours with all the societies. So it turns out that you’ll have to go to them all now Sherlock.”

 

And Sherlock pulls a bit of a face, before, “That wouldn't have taken this long,” he concludes sharply, eyeing his brother with suspicion now. 

 

So, “I fancied a walk,” Mycroft says airily, which instantly arouses Sherlock’s suspicion because his brother _never_ just fancies going for a walk. 

 

Then Mycroft goes instinctively towards the settee and your heart leaps in your chest, before both Molly and you shuffle aside a bit so that he can sit down upon it. And once he does you are very much aware of how close his legs are to your face so you turn your head away to the other side slightly. 

 

Then, “We were just playing, ‘Have you ever?’ Mycroft,” Molly tells him, but that doesn't seem to enlighten him any further for he just has a puzzled look on his face. 

 

Yet, “Oh don’t expect him to know what that is. The only game he plays these days are mind games, isn't that right Mycroft?” Sherlock crows and Mycroft flushes angrily, before his hand instantly reaches towards the bottle of wine on the table. 

 

Then Greg stands up to get him a glass and a plate just in case he wants some pizza too so Mycroft thanks him, before he shifts forwards to pour some of the wine. 

 

Then, “Perhaps we could start a new question?” Molly suggests, and when no one objects to such a thing she asks, “Why don’t you come up with one F/N?”

 

And you swallow now, very much aware of Mycroft on the other side of you, before you wonder what would be a safe question to ask that won’t make Mycroft any angrier. 

 

But you’re too slow and Sherlock says, “I've got one,” and his eyes lock with Mycroft’s now and there’s a delicious kind of satisfaction toying on his face as he asks, “Have you ever kissed a girl?”

 

And there's silence for a moment, before, “Well I haven’t,” Molly pipes up a little nervously as Mycroft’s hand tightens its grip on his wine glass, whilst he hopes that by going across to you almost as soon as he arrived he hasn't made his growing feelings obvious to his brother who looks at him still and raises an eyebrow challengingly, “And I doubt F/N has either. Why couldn't you have asked one that we could have all answered?” 

 

“Because he wasn't asking it to the whole room. He was asking it to try and embarrass me, weren't you Sherlock?” Mycroft says icily now and as the atmosphere plunges into Arctic conditions you hold your breath, Molly looks anxious and Greg looks awkward as Mycroft and Sherlock size each other up. 

 

Then, “If anyone’s interested I've got a list, though I doubt it’s as long as John’s,” Greg blurts out to try and diffuse the tension and to your surprise an ugly sort of grimace flickers over Sherlock’s face as he finally breaks eye contact with his brother.

 

And such an expression on Sherlock’s face makes Mycroft look fleetingly triumphant for a moment. But then, “This is all very pleasant, but I think I’ll retire early,” he says, for he’s already got more emotions flying inside him then he’d like and he doesn't want Sherlock to stir them up any further. And Molly’s face falls now as he gets up, whilst you can hear the rustle of his trousers in your ear. 

 

Then, “We’re supposed to be having a nice night with all of us together to celebrate F/N moving in,” Molly tells him. 

 

But Mycroft simply lets out a little breath, before he says as breezily as he can, “Well I'm sure she won’t mind.”

 

And you peer up at him now to see that he’s looking down and giving you a meaningful look. So, even though you _do_ mind, you shake your head, your heart sinking a little in your chest as you do so. 

 

And Mycroft draws himself up now, whilst he feels both relieved and irritatingly enough disappointed that you didn't try and make him stay. Then he nods, before he disappears back out of the room. 

 

And you watch until he leaves and then your head swings back to look across the coffee table, only to see that Sherlock’s watching you with a curious expression on his face as he wonders what your feelings are for his brother. For between the way you asked after him earlier and the way you’d just gazed after him now he’s already sensing that you’re beginning to feel something deeper than friendship for Mycroft. And suddenly he wonders if he should make it even more plain then he has already and tell you that Mycroft’s never had a relationship like that before and that there’s no reason why he should suddenly feel the need to have one now therefore. But something about the way you meet his gaze for a moment, before you go on to drink more of your wine makes him hold off on doing so and look away from you. 

 

And though the rest of the night is pleasant enough every time you catch yourself laughing a little too loudly you can’t help but feel a pang reverberate inside you as your mind thinks of Mycroft alone in his room. 

 

*

 

Sherlock’s over at John’s early the next morning. So early in fact that John’s in the middle of washing up his breakfast things when Sherlock strides in through the back door. And such a sight is infinitely more pleasing than the sight of John kissing a girl. So, feeling encouraged, Sherlock fingers the football key ring that’s in his pocket, before he strides to stand by John. And then a moment later he draws the key ring out and dangles it in front of John’s face. 

 

So, “What’s that?” John asks, eyeing the slightly swaying key ring now, before his eyes lock onto Sherlock’s face once more. 

 

And Sherlock nods, before, “It’s for you,” he announces, and then when John still looks a bit puzzled he goes on to explain, “I rescued it from Greg’s treasure yesterday, he was about to throw it out, but I thought you’d like it so…”

 

“Oh, thanks,” John says and he both looks and feels surprised now. Then his brow furrows a little, before, “My hands are kinda wet now though, so could you just put it down there?” and he nods to the sideboard now.

 

But, “I’ll go and take it to your room,” Sherlock says because he doesn't want anyone else to take it. And when John nods uncertainly he leaves the kitchen and then proceeds to make his way upstairs two at a time. 

 

Then he pushes the door to John’s bedroom open and steps inside, before he closes it behind him. 

 

John’s room is somewhat neater than his, which is full of chemicals on the desk and clothes on the floor, but that said John’s personality and hopes for the future are still displayed everywhere. For a stack of books about medicine lay strewn across his desk. Whilst the photos on his pin board show John drinking with friends or playing sport and there’s even a couple of him with Sherlock too and Sherlock feels pleased as he looks at them now. In one of them he’s reading and John’s chattering away beside him as they sit together beneath a tree. Whilst in the other they’re both looking towards the camera. John’s got a big grin on his face and his cheeks are muddy from when he’d climbed a tree at the park earlier that day and fallen off. And Sherlock, his hair tousled and littered with leaves and twigs, is pointing proudly to a thin, bloody cut across his own cheek, which John, just after this photo was taken, would go on to inspect and tend to. And a pang of longing fills Sherlock now as the memory of John’s slightly rough fingers on his cheek come back to him. John had smelt of grass and earth that day, Sherlock remembers, before he hears the sound of a toilet flushing somewhere in the distance and comes out of his daze as he swallows. Then he goes across hurriedly to place the key ring on one of the pins that’s holding the photos in place, before he exits the room a moment later. 

 

And, “I put it on your pin board,” he tells John a moment later when he re-enters the kitchen. 

 

So John, still not sure of what to make of Sherlock’s gift to him, just nods. 

 

* 

 

The rest of the week passes quickly and you feel that you’re enjoying living where you do already, even to the point where you feel so, _so_ grateful that your first accommodation fell through. For you can’t imagine it would have been this fun or crazy. Not without Sherlock insisting on waking everyone up at an hour that really shouldn't even exist. Or without Greg and his flippant remarks and general sense of humour. Or without Molly who you feel like you could talk to about nearly anything already. Or indeed without Mycroft who has those legs that have been haunting your dreams…

 

And all too soon you’re rolling out of bed and getting ready for your first morning of lectures. Mycroft has already left to go to the library before hand and Greg and Sherlock are already eating their breakfast and of course finish before you, so it is just Molly and you who make your way to campus together. 

 

And once you reach it you both take a short cut through the main building, before you come out onto a small concourse, and you’re just crossing it together and heading towards the exit on the right when you sense someone’s eyes on you. So as Molly carries on talking you look around until you catch sight of a man stood slightly to the left and just yards in front of you, perfectly still, like a rock in a fast-flowing river. And your breath catches in your chest and your footsteps falter as you see who it is. 

 

But, “F/N are you listening?” Molly asks you, clutching at your arm briefly, before she goes on, “It’s not that I mind but”- then she breaks off as she catches sight of your gaze. And, _“Oh,”_ she says in a startled voice so you look back at her in confusion. Then, “I think he lives in the same house as John, if you’re interested,” Molly adds. 

 

And you do a double take now, before you splutter out, “I'm not interested. I just thought it was someone that I used to know that’s all.”

 

And, “Oh,” she says, before she looks back at the man who gives a little nod in her direction now. Then, “But there’s nothing wrong if you _are_ interested, he’s pretty cute isn't he?” she adds and a giggle escapes her lips now as the man waves a hand at her so your eyes narrow. 

 

For that couldn't be further from the truth, you think grimly as you stare at the man, who dressed in a white top, denim jacket and dark trousers is doing a good job of looking like an ordinary student. And then as your eyes go to his face, the face that you’d recognize anywhere with that light brush of stubble on his jaw line and those dark eyes, you wonder what he’s doing here. For did he know that you’d be studying here? Or is this just a coincidence? And then just at the very moment you think that his eyes flick to yours and something gleams in them as they do, before a small smirk appears on his face as he languidly begins to chew on the bubblegum that up until this point he must have been storing somewhere in his mouth, and your breath catches in your chest sharply as you realize that this can’t just be a coincidence. 

 

But then his eyes move back to Molly’s again, before Molly turns to you and says, “F/N, we better go, or I should at any rate, my lecture’s further away than yours.”

 

And, “Okay,” you tell her guardedly, before you wrench your eyes away from the man. And as you walk off together once more you don’t look at him again. But you do wonder where all this might lead. For as you've discovered before things rarely lead anywhere good when James Moriarty’s involved.


	2. A Turn For The Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When James Moriarty makes his presence felt things soon take a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thank you so much to you all for your support! :D I really appreciate it! :D 
> 
> And I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

“Did you have a good first day?” Greg asks you when you finally get back to the house that late afternoon after your final lecture. 

 

So you look at him to see that he’s eating crisps by the dining room table. There’s a study book open in front of him, though it doesn't look like he’s turned the page in a while, more like it was just a well intentioned sort of thing. 

 

Then, “Yeah, not bad,” you say, before you ask, “Are we all going to be eating together tonight? Or”-

 

And, “Ah, good question F/N,” Mycroft says like a Professor praising their favourite pupil as he walks out of his room and crosses the floor towards the table. 

 

So your eyes follow him and you feel even more curious as he takes out a sheet of folded paper from his pocket and then unfolds it, before he puts it down on the centre of the table. 

 

Then Greg leans across, one hand still in his crisps, whilst the other supports the bottom of the packet, before, “Did ‘ou ‘eally make a ‘ota My’roft?” he asks with his mouth full. 

 

And as you go across to join them so you can see what’s on the paper too Mycroft gives Greg a disapproving look, which causes Greg to shrug his shoulders at him. Then, “Yes, I made a rota, well, it’s more of a suggestion really, of who should cook each night. I made another one for cleaning too,” Mycroft says and he takes another folded sheet of paper out of his pocket now and adds it to the table.

 

And you can’t help but smile when you see the neat spreadsheets on each piece. 

 

Yet, “I think if Sherlock’s cooking on a Saturday I might go and get a takeaway instead,” Greg quips, finally finishing off his crisps. And he lays the empty packet down, before as he sucks on each of his fingers to get them clean Mycroft shoots him another disapproving look. 

 

But, “I think it’s a good idea,” you pipe up, feeling a bit nervous as Mycroft turns to look at you, before, “Thank you for making them,” you say. 

 

And Mycroft considers you for a moment, before he puffs his chest out a little bit and looks pleased as he says, “Well, I'm glad some one appreciates my efforts at any rate.” Then, as it is his night to cook he goes across to the kitchen to get started. 

 

So you turn back to look at Greg, only to see that he’s giving you an amused yet knowing kind of look so you blush a bit, before you go upstairs to change. 

 

*

 

You’re halfway through your dinner of salmon, potatoes, runner beans and a creamy white sauce, courtesy of Mycroft, when the topic that you've been trying to push to the back of your mind all day comes to the forefront once more. 

 

For Molly looks up from where she’s cutting up her potatoes, as if she just remembered something, to ask you, “Oh, did you see your friend again?”

 

And your cutlery slips a little in your hands as an image of Moriarty’s smirking face enters your mind. Then you look up to see that Mycroft’s giving you a polite yet enquiring look, Sherlock one of curiosity, Greg one of intrigue and that Molly is wearing an eager sort of smile. 

 

So, “I told you I don’t know him,” you say without looking at anyone, and you try to keep your voice as even as you can but it comes out a bit harsh nonetheless. 

 

But, “Well there was certainly an energy exchange going on between you,” Molly says, a little defensively, and you can tell from her face that she’s a little surprised by your tone. 

 

And Greg exchanges a look with Sherlock now, whilst Mycroft looks first at Molly and then at you, and as he does so he not only wonders who this man is but becomes aware of the fact that the idea of you having such an exchange makes him feel irritated. And that only further confuses him. For why on earth has such a thing made him feel like that? For it can't surely be jealousy can it? Mycroft wonders and he feels alarmed at the very prospect. Then _no_ , he thinks as he feels determined to regain control over his emotions once more, it can't be anything as profound as that. For he barely knows you after all and he's never had such romantic notions before so it's completely impossible that he could be having them now over a person he barely knows. Isn't it?

 

Yet Mycroft runs out of time to decide what's _actually_ making him feel that way if it's not jealousy because a moment later you shrug a little helplessly and say, “If there was I didn't feel it,” as indifferently as you can manage, before you shove a piece of salmon in your mouth hurriedly. 

 

And Mycroft wants to believe you, for that would surely settle the uneasy feeling that’s beginning to grow inside him. But he can tell by the way you’re clearly trying to avoid the issue that you’re lying and he can’t help but suddenly hope that it’s not because you’re secretly in love with this man. For there’s clearly some sort of past history between you both. Yet, as he catches himself and properly realizes just what it is that he's thinking he feels both scared and alarmed. For if he's thinking such things then he must be more drawn to you than he'd previously thought. And such a thing makes him sigh inwardly for how on earth can he have let himself become so drawn to you so quickly? How on earth can he have let you confuse him so much when you barely know each other? And then, in an attempt to avoid only getting more confused by trying to answer such questions, he goes back to the issue of this man and you. And as he does he can't help but wonder if your relationship with this man was just a past relationship that ended badly. A past relationship that will just ensure that things are a little awkward whenever you might come into contact and nothing more. But then he comes out of such hopeful thought with a jolt when Molly, after frowning at your behaviour, can’t resist saying, “He was very cute.” 

 

And so you sigh around your piece of salmon now, but when you look around you see that Mycroft’s eyes are still watching you. Yet as soon as you look at him he goes back to eating his own dinner. And you can't know that as he does so he's wondering if you think whoever this man is, is cute too. And that as he realizes it would explain your strange behaviour if you had, had a relationship with this man and you now wanted to get back with him but you just weren't sure how best to go about it he feels a swooping sensation in his stomach. And again he feels scared and confused, before in the next moment, he just wishes that he could get himself back under control and simply focus on his studies, as had been his intention in coming to university all along. But as he glances at you once more and feels this strange pull of attraction towards you he gets the feeling that it’s already too late to salvage the situation. Already too late because already he's in far too deep. 

 

Greg meanwhile says in response to Molly’s words, “Not as cute as me though right?” and it sounds as if he’s only half-joking. 

 

But, “Hmm,” Molly pretends to consider with a smile, before, “I don’t know,” she concludes so Greg’s face sours momentarily, before he manages to cover it up again, whilst something seems to stick in your throat. 

 

And you push your plate aside and half-turn to look at Mycroft as you say, “Thank you Mycroft, this was very nice but I can’t eat any more. I think I'm just going to go read for a while instead,” and Mycroft nods, not knowing what to say to you. For ideally he’d like to know a bit more about whomever this man is and more of your actual thoughts on him and not just your pretend ones, whether that would lead him to muse about the matter for the rest of the night or not. But he can tell that you’d be as dismissive towards him as you were to Molly just now if he asked you, so instead he just lets you leave, though he watches as you take your plate to the kitchen, get rid of your leftovers and then leave the room. 

 

Then, “Bit odd that wasn't it?” Greg asks as soon as they hear you go upstairs. 

 

So, “I was only trying to be friendly,” Molly says with a bit of a shrug, before she bites at her lip, still feeling confused and a little hurt about the whole thing. But then after she thinks about it some more she says decisively, “There was definitely something going on between them, I'm sure of it,” as she looks at Greg and Greg just shrugs hopelessly back at her feeling nonplussed, whilst Mycroft’s heart sinks even further at Molly’s words and he feels even more confused. 

 

Sherlock meanwhile looks at his brother to see if he feels as puzzled about what had just occurred as he does. But to his surprise Mycroft looks troubled more than puzzled, which makes Sherlock only feel more confused. For why would such a thing provoke such feelings in his brother? Unless he’s spotted something that Sherlock hasn't, which is an annoying habit of his that Sherlock tends to blame on the fact that Mycroft’s two years older than him. 

 

Then Mycroft, sensing his brother's gaze, looks back at him for a moment, before he looks down at his plate once more. And as he does so he feels even more curious as to who that man is and uneasy about what the possibility of you having a past history with said man has stirred inside him. But by the time he finishes his dinner and everyone else finishes theirs he feels uneasy about not knowing the full effect the conversation has had on you too, which blooms into concern as he pictures you sitting alone in your room as you mull it all over. 

 

So just as Molly’s about to leave for the living room he corners her. Then once she’s looking at him curiously he suggests, “Perhaps you could go and speak to F/N?” before when her lips part he adds, “I would do it myself, but since you’re the one who brought the matter up”- even though there's absolutely no way that he would actually go upstairs and talk to you now because he feels sure that doing so would only confuse him even further.

 

But, “Oh, okay, yes, that’s probably a good idea actually,” Molly says, nodding now and Mycroft, with his mission accomplished, is about to turn away, before he changes his mind. 

 

So, “What did this man look like?” he asks instead as he looks back at her. And when bells of alarm instantly ring in his mind at him having asked such a thing so instinctively he tries to placate himself by thinking that he's asking purely out of curiosity and nothing else. And especially not because he wants to gauge your type, which is something that seems suddenly irrationally important for him to establish. 

 

And she hesitates a moment now, clearly wondering why he wants to know such a thing. But then seeing him swallow prompts her to say, “Well, he had dark hair and he was quite short I suppose, shorter than you and Sherlock and maybe Greg too,” and Mycroft’s heart sinks, before he finds himself thinking automatically that if that is your type then he most definitely doesn't fit it. Then he tries to shake such thought away as he listens to her say, “It was hard to tell properly. He looked friendly though, he waved at me actually,” and Mycroft notes how she sounds pleased by this now, before, “Which was why I didn't really see any harm in mentioning it tonight …” she goes on. And as she trails off she seems to see Mycroft properly in front of her again and, _“Oh!”_ she breathes. 

 

So, _“What?”_ Mycroft asks her at once. 

 

But she just looks at him with a strange look upon her face. Then she seems to give herself a little shake, before, “Oh, oh it’s nothing, um, anyway, oh that’s right, I think the man lives with John so you could always ask John if you want to know more about him. Anyway I better go and speak to F/N then hadn't I? Bye Mycroft,” and as she turns away from him Mycroft can’t help but feel even more puzzled. For what on earth had Molly suddenly realized when she’d looked at him in such a strange way?

 

*

 

Meanwhile you’re attempting to read in your room, but you can’t concentrate with thoughts of Moriarty running through your mind and so you’re just lying on your side on top of the duvet instead when there comes a soft knock upon your door. 

 

And you roll around, before you lift your head up slightly so that you can call out, “Who is it?” 

 

So, “It’s Molly F/N, can I come in?” Molly asks. 

 

And you hesitate a moment, before, “Okay,” you say softly. Then you swing around to sit up so that your legs are dangling over the side of the bed by the time she enters cautiously. 

 

And she gives you a little half-smile, which you return tentatively, before she comes to sit beside you, turning slightly so that her body’s tilted towards you more. Then, “I didn't mean to make you feel bad or whatever earlier you know?” she says. 

 

So you swallow, before, “I'm sorry. I don’t know why I reacted like that, you were only trying to have a bit of fun,” you tell her awkwardly. 

 

And she pats your hand for a moment. Then, “Please don’t get angry with me for asking this, but do you think it’s because of Mycroft?” and you look at her in confusion now, your brow furrowing. So, “You don’t want to have feelings for the man we saw today because you think you might be starting to have them for him?” she prompts. Then she adds, “I've seen the way you look at him,” and you swallow again, before you listen as she goes on, “I've always been good at reading other people’s feelings. My Dad said I could see too much sometimes”- 

 

But you shake your head then, before you say a little stiffly, “No, it’s nothing like that, and I don’t have feelings for Mycroft either, I just want to do good here y’know?” and she can’t know just how good or how much you want to ensure that you’ll never have to go back to Brighton aside from when you visit your parents.

 

And, not understanding, she feels a little hurt at your tone, before she gathers herself together and then nods. But even so she doesn't feel convinced by the first two parts of your sentence and especially not the part about you not having any feelings for Mycroft. So she hesitates only a moment, before she says, “It was Mycroft who made me come up here and talk to you, you know?” and you look at her now so she goes on hurriedly, “I mean I probably would have come up anyway,” before, “But it was him who suggested it out loud to me,” she concludes. 

 

And, _“Oh,”_ you say softly, not knowing what to think about that, so she smiles a little. 

 

Then instead of pushing the matter any further for now she asks, “So are we still friends?”

 

And, “Of course,” you tell her, before you hug each other briefly and then she leaves you to your thoughts once more. 

 

*

 

The following evening you’re reading a rather dry book in the dining room and Greg and Molly are doing some studying of their own, but you’re struggling to concentrate so you find yourself looking around the room distractedly. Greg’s sitting right beside you by the table with his knees pulled up to his chest. He’s chewing on a Snickers bar, whilst his eyes are fixed hazily upon the textbook that he’s supposed to be making notes on. And Molly is stretched out across the floor on her stomach and as she trails a finger down some of her lecture notes she keeps making little noises as she sucks upon her pen, which makes Greg shift his position every time. Then Sherlock waltzes in to make a cup of tea and the sound of the kettle boiling breaks your focus completely. So you try and get it back by swallowing and reading the sentence that you were last on twice, reciting it to yourself quietly in your mind. And you've nearly got your focus back when Mycroft comes out of his room and crosses over to pour himself some tea and you can’t help but track his progress with your eyes and as you do you begin to wonder now-

 

“Is there anything you want to share with me F/N?” Mycroft asks as he turns to you with his tea in between his hands. Then he sips at it, whilst your body freezes in its position and you blush furiously.

 

And Greg grins as he looks at you, whilst Molly smiles as she peers up at you. 

 

But it is Sherlock who reads you easily and he who says, “She was just wondering why you don’t study with her and the others,” and Mycroft nods thoughtfully now, before, “Which is for the same reason why I don’t. It’s too easy to get distracted,” Sherlock concludes. 

 

Yet you still don’t understand, and seeing such a thing Mycroft supplies, “When you’re studying it is hard enough sometimes to focus your own thoughts on what you need to,” and he pauses to look at you knowingly now, as if he knows that you were struggling to concentrate when he came in, before, “Without the thoughts of others coming into your head too,” he adds. 

 

And you nod now, before you clear your throat a little and duck your head back down to return to your own studying. 

 

But instead of taking his tea back to his room as he’d originally intended Mycroft can’t help but watch you. Your hair’s hiding your face from him a little and he wishes that you’d brush it back so that he could read your expression more easily. For you were clearly embarrassed by him noticing your gaze and he hopes that you don’t think badly of him doing it now, for it was just something that he would have done to anyone. Then the thought that you’re hardly just anyone to him any more springs to his mind, before he turns his head to see that Sherlock’s eyes are upon him and that he’s clearly been watching him, watching you.

 

And, _You like her don’t you?_ Sherlock changes his look to ask now, for as impossible as it seems it has become the only conclusion he can draw for why Mycroft was looking at you the way he was just now. Plus it would fit as to why he was looking so troubled the previous evening… 

 

But, _Nonsense_ , Mycroft replies with a stare of his own, before, _She just intrigues me that’s all._

 

And Sherlock rolls his eyes now, before he turns to go back upstairs. So Mycroft swallows and his gaze goes to you once more, before he returns to his own room. 

 

And when he does so he sits by his desk, puts his cup of tea down and tries to go back to making notes from one of his many textbooks, but the feel of your eyes on him and the silent conversation that he’d then gone on to have with his brother keeps coming back to him. And as it does his own response in that silent conversation comes back to him also. But it wasn't a lie as Sherlock obviously thought, he thinks, for you do intrigue him. In fact you've intrigued him right from the moment he first saw you. For something about you had made his brother offer you the free room when normally Mycroft would have thought that in favour of not adding anyone new to the list of new people that he’d already have to get used to he’d have just ignored the problem. And the fact that you've had such a disruptive childhood, what with you having moved about all the time, intrigues him too. For he can’t imagine how lonely that must have been. Whilst your response to the man you’d seen on the campus during your first day of lectures, well, _God_ that intrigues him too. As does the way you look at him sometimes with an expression of deep thought on your face, for it makes him both wonder what you’re thinking and how your mind works. And then suddenly, as he becomes just aware of how much mystery surrounds you, he wants to laugh with relief. For that must be it! He's merely been feeling like he's drawn to you so much because of all the unanswered questions that surround you! Not because of any other reason! And he sighs happily now, before his shoulders slump slightly in relief. Then he chides himself for being so slow and for not seeing such a thing sooner, before he thinks that if he's let such a simple thing confuse him then he can't really be as clever as he thought. And he allows such a thought to irk him for a moment. Then he shrugs because being a little more stupid, in that moment, is far more appealing to him then having to put up with the confusion he was in earlier. And so, feeling far more satisfied with things overall, he goes back to his work.

 

* 

 

The next couple of weeks pass by quickly enough and with the weather getting more and more autumnal you find that you’re more often than not trudging through leaves as you go from one lecture to the next around campus now. 

 

All in all everything seems to be going as well as it can be between your studies and living arrangements, though of course it is hard to tell for definite with your studies as your first assignment isn't due until the beginning of November. And whilst you've seen Moriarty watching you a couple of times, something that had made your stomach churn each time, he hasn't approached you or spoken to you. 

 

So considering all that you’re feeling quite cheerful when you come home one day and hang up your coat by the door, before you peer into the kitchen. Yet there’s no one there, which is a typical sight as it’s Greg’s night to cook and he has football practice, before coming home. So instead you go to see if there’s anyone in the living room. And at first you think that Molly and Sherlock are sitting on the settee together, which you find weird enough in itself, but then Molly shifts a little and turns her head to look at you and your breath catches in your throat when you see that it is not Sherlock there but Moriarty. 

 

And, “Hi F/N, did you have a good day?” Molly asks as if you regularly come home to find her sitting with Moriarty.

 

And, “Um, hi and yes, I guess,” you begin slowly, struggling to both process what you’re seeing in front of you and to speak coherently, whilst your eyes still fix on Moriarty. 

 

But, “Hi F/N,” Moriarty says in a slow, lazy voice, as he looks amused at the expression on your face, and the sound of that lilting Irish voice that you’d once known so well almost makes you shiver. 

 

Yet you don’t want to appear weak in front of him so you simply narrow your eyes, before Molly pipes up, “Why don’t you come and join us, whilst we wait for dinner?”

 

And joining them, quite naturally, is the last thing that you want to do. But too you can’t very well leave, before you learn the nature of their relationship either so you falter like a rabbit in the headlights. 

 

Then, “Yeah, come join us F/N. We were just spending a bit of time together as a couple, but we don’t mind do we babe?” Moriarty drawls, his hand going around Molly’s waist and she giggles a little. 

 

But your head is still reeling a little from his words to feel too repulsed by the sight. For couple. _Couple_. God they’re a _couple_ , you think, before you think that you have to find a way of warning Molly what Moriarty’s like without it looking like you want Moriarty for yourself. 

 

Yet rather than think about what you're going to do in the future you should really be worrying about what you're going to do in the present for they’re still waiting for your answer. So, “Um no thank you, I just, I just remembered that I need to look something up,” you say and you hurtle back out of the room, though not fast enough that you don’t catch the smirk that Moriarty sends your way, before he goes to nibble on Molly’s ear. 

 

Then you hurry upstairs, before you collide with a damp haired and very nice smelling Mycroft on the landing and, before he can say hello or pass you, you grab onto his arms and hiss, “How long has that been going on?” whilst you jerk your head downstairs. 

 

And Mycroft looks at you in confusion now, before he realizes what you mean, so, “Just a couple of days I believe,” he replies. 

 

And you nod now and let go of him, looking at the floor and taking a bit of a breath as you do so. 

 

Then, “Why? Is something wrong?” Mycroft asks you as his expression changes to one of concern. 

 

But instead of answering him you just turn to go towards your room. 

 

So, _“F/N?”_ he calls after you. 

 

But, “It’s nothing,” you call over your shoulder to him, before you disappear into your room. 

 

And he frowns and just stands there for a moment, his eyes on the spot where you just disappeared. Then he shakes himself a little out of his daze, before as he goes downstairs he thinks that you can be very strange sometimes. But too he can’t help but wonder if your sudden strangeness just now has anything to do with jealousy. For if you do want to get back together with Moriarty then it’s only natural to assume that seeing him suddenly going out with Molly would stir such emotions inside you. And he makes up his mind to watch you more closely during dinner tonight now. For perhaps that will help solve the mystery of your past history with Moriarty. 

 

*

 

You’d love to miss it but you know that you can’t and that you have to go to dinner. For It will look too weird if you don’t. So you find yourself in your usual seat, only this time because of _someone’s_ presence, you’re squashed between Mycroft and Sherlock [not that you mind the Mycroft side of this particular equation] with Greg on the other side of Sherlock, then Molly, whilst Moriarty, unfortunately, sits directly opposite you. 

 

And you try to carry on as you would normally but every now and again you can feel Moriarty’s burning gaze on you so you raise your eyes each time to meet his instead. Yet rather than deterring him this only seems to encourage him and one time when you look at him he sucks a strand of spaghetti noisily into his mouth, his eyes on you the whole time, and Molly, not noticing where his gaze is, just giggles a little. 

 

Then, “Oops it’s a bit messy this isn't it?” he says with a little grin and Molly smiles again, which makes Greg frown unhappily. For although it had been clear to him that Molly had liked Moriarty ever since she’d first described him as ‘cute’ he’d rather hoped nothing would come of it. 

 

But, “Unfortunately it’s what we have whenever it’s Graham’s turn to cook,” Sherlock says with a bit of a sigh, whilst some of the Bolognese sauce stains the outside of his mouth like blood.

 

And, “Yes, I don’t know why we wait for _Gregory_ to make it actually. We could have just made it ourselves in the time he gets back,” Mycroft says as he takes up the line of conversation now. 

 

And, “See? This is why you wouldn't want to live here, one of them can’t remember my name and the other insists on calling me _Gregory_ ,” Greg jokes now as he tries to make himself feel better. 

 

But he soon feels worse when Moriarty says, “Oh, I can think of certain benefits,” in a husky voice with his eyes on Molly and you suddenly feel sick, before you grip onto your cutlery very tightly, something which Mycroft picks up on as Moriarty leans across to kiss Molly’s neck. 

 

And the sight prompts Mycroft to clear his throat disapprovingly but Moriarty carries on regardless. So Sherlock rolls his eyes and Greg, who seems incapable of looking away from the pair even though he’d very much like to, wears a sour look. 

 

But, “No kissing at the dinner table Jim, it’s kind of an unspoken rule” Molly finally gets out in between giggling. Yet Moriarty just lets out a bit of a groan. Then he turns his head slightly and his eyes flick to you momentarily, before he goes on to kiss another part of her neck.

 

And you can’t take any more so you let your knife slide from your hand to clatter against the edge of the table, before it tumbles down to the floor. And out of the corner of your eye you can see Mycroft shooting you a suspicious look as he wonders whether you did that out of jealousy or something else. But your focus is firmly on Moriarty, who draws back from Molly, before he looks at you with a smile of satisfaction on his face. 

 

Then a beat passes between you, before you mutter, “Oops sorry,” and dart underneath the table to retrieve your knife. 

 

But when you re-surface Moriarty is still looking in your direction consideringly and he says, “Not to worry, you were always a bit of a butterfingers weren't you F/N?” so you look at him sharply, whilst your breath catches in your chest as you lay the dirty knife on the table beside your plate and everyone else freezes. 

 

Then Molly is the first to react so she looks in between Moriarty and you, before she asks uncertainly, “You know each other?” and then the smile slips off her face as she adds, “I thought you said you didn't know him?” 

 

And Moriarty’s smile only grows, whilst you frown at him as your heart beats unevenly in your chest. Then, “Oh, didn't she tell you? We used to go to school together,” he says, and on that bombshell he picks up his glass of water and takes a long sip of it, before he swills it around his mouth, his eyes on you the whole time, and then swallows it. 

 

And you can hear Mycroft let out a little breath on your other side as he takes this information in and realizes that his previous theory seems more and more likely. But you can't know that he also feels a stab of irritation with himself as he realises that he doesn't know how he feels about such a thing. A stab of irritation because he thought that he'd figured out why he feels drawn to you, and he'd spent the past two weeks feeling quite certain that he was most correct, but now in the space of a few minutes he just feels confused again. Whilst at the same time Greg’s mouth drops open and Sherlock looks as if he’s thinking very hard. 

 

Then, “Why didn't you say?” Molly asks you now, looking both a little confused and hurt. 

 

And you don’t reply for a moment but you can feel your body responding even though your mouth isn't. For your heartbeat quickens its pace, whilst your hands go clammy. So, with your mind in a panic, your eyes roam around each one of them. And first they seek out Mycroft who looks tense as he looks steadily at you, then Sherlock who looks serious as he wonders about Moriarty and feels intrigued about him for the first time, Greg who’s frowning at you, for he hates that you've kept such a thing from them when Molly’s happiness could be at stake, Molly who looks more and more desperate for an answer and then finally they rest on Moriarty who raises an eyebrow at you. 

 

Then you open your mouth, but before you can say anything Moriarty gets there first with the words, “I'm not surprised she didn't mention me to be honest,” and he shrugs a little now as he pauses and toys with you. Then, “She might act all innocent and bookish now but she wasn't always that way,” he finishes grimly. 

 

And before he can make anything worse you just blurt out, “I don’t know why I didn't mention you. I guess I just thought it didn't matter.”

 

So, _“Ouch,”_ Moriarty says, clutching at his heart with an expression of mock hurt upon his face and Sherlock rolls his eyes at his theatricality. 

 

But, _“Oh,”_ Molly says softly and you feel a pang in your chest, for you don’t want to fall out with her over this. Whilst Greg’s heart sinks in his chest at Molly’s tone, for if she becomes upset as a result of whatever you’re clearly hiding then he’ll find it hard to carry on getting along with you when you could have just helped by being honest. And as he looks at the way you simply go back to your meal he feels more determined than ever to find out what’s going on here so that he can protect Molly the best he can. For if he can find out and warn Moriarty off her now then perhaps he can save Molly greater heartache further down the line. 

 

But Mycroft can’t get what Moriarty said about you out of his head. For what does he mean about you not always being the way you are now? And his thoughts run away a little as he adds possibilities to his theory. For maybe he means you got into the wrong crowd at school and then at some point ended up being in a relationship with Moriarty, either because of getting in the wrong crowd or in spite of it, which at some point ended badly. Yet whatever happened it’s likely, from your behaviour, that you want to get back with him now. And as his heart beats unevenly in his chest he thinks that if that’s the case then it all makes sense, yet he still feels a desire to know if he’s correct, whatever it makes him feel in return, even if it only makes him feel more confused. So he thinks for a moment, before, not being able to help himself he asks enquiringly, “Did you know each other well? At school I mean?” 

 

And your heart sinks in your chest, for _why_ did he have to ask that? Whilst Moriarty stares at him consideringly for a moment, then, “Oh, only to say hello to,” he says leisurely. 

 

And Mycroft nods though he senses that Moriarty’s choosing to avoid the issue as much as you and he can’t help but feel annoyed now because of it. For he just wants this all to be cleared up in his head once and for all so that he'll have answers and be able to see that, yes, he was only drawn to you because he wanted such things and that there's nothing left about you, which makes him feel that way. 

 

But Mycroft might still get some answers for, “So you don’t have any funny stories about F/N to tell us?” Greg asks, trying to find a different route to get more information now that Mycroft’s opened the hornet’s nest again. 

 

And your eyes meet once more with Moriarty’s as you dare him to continue. 

 

But, “No funny ones no,” Moriarty says, not looking at anyone now as he goes back to his dinner so you swallow, before you go back to yours. 

 

*

 

When Moriarty leaves you’re in your room and Molly’s in the living room so, “Right,” Greg announces as he finishes washing up and places the final cup on the draining board so that it can dry, “I'm going to find out what’s going on here.” For he hasn't been able to get what happened at dinner out of his head and he’s worked himself up even more about it as he washed up. And so he makes to go past Sherlock who’s been leaning against the counter the whole time Greg washed up with a thoughtful look upon his face. 

 

But, “I just texted John,” Sherlock says and Greg turns to look at him now as if to ask what the hell that’s got to do with anything, “And he said that although Moriarty tends to keep himself to himself he’s friendly enough to everyone”-

 

“So that’s good enough for you to believe that there’s nothing odd going on here is it?” Greg interrupts, both looking and sounding angry. 

 

And, “No, of course not”- Sherlock begins, before he breaks off with a huff as Greg turns and strides out of the room. So instead Sherlock marches across to knock hard on Mycroft’s door, before, “Mycroft get out of there, we have an emergency unfolding,” he orders. Then a moment later as a harried looking Mycroft, annoyed to have his own thoughts on everything interrupted, appears, Sherlock announces, “Gabriel’s going to interrogate F/N.”

 

And Mycroft, knowing that his brother doesn't mean the archangel Gabriel, pushes past him at once, before he races upstairs after Greg and says in a pleading tone, “Gregory I really don’t think there’s any need to do this right now, surely it can wait until the morning when everyone’s calmed down a bit”- for he’s already decided during his time in his room to try and speak to you about it all then if he can. For the sooner he can get all this, distraction, confusion, whatever he wants to label it today, out of his system the better. 

 

But, “Oh don’t pretend that you don’t want to know what’s going on here as much as me,” Greg snaps, almost outside your room now. And then as he turns to look back at Mycroft who stops before him a little breathlessly a moment later with Sherlock at his heels he adds, “I could see the way you looked at F/N at dinner.” Then without further ado he pushes your door open and strides in, followed by Sherlock who’s pushed his way around Mycroft, and then Mycroft who joins them after giving an exasperated little shake of his head. 

 

And your reaction from where you’re curled up underneath your duvet in your pyjamas as you read is instantaneous. For you jerk your head up and throw your book hurriedly aside, before you pull your duvet up higher so that they can only see your arms and face. Then you blurt out, “Haven’t you heard of knocking?”

 

Yet, “Molly’s busy downstairs watching _Glee_ , so whilst she is, we want you to tell us what your problem with Moriarty is because if he’s going to break her heart then we need to know right now,” Greg says heatedly. 

 

And Sherlock rolls his eyes at Greg’s aggressive approach. 

 

Whilst Mycroft runs a weary hand across his face, before, “I'm sorry F/N, I tried to get Gregory to wait until the morning but he was adamant that it had to be done now,” he says. Then he turns to Greg, before he comments, “F/N was right Gregory. It was very rude of you not to knock. She could have been changing.”

 

And Sherlock rolls his eyes, before he mutters, “Yes, because you would have been so traumatized by unexpectedly seeing such a thing I'm sure,” so that only Mycroft can hear and Mycroft sends him a dark look because he doesn't need his brother making such comments so close to you, for if you heard such a remark then you'd surely think that he has feelings for you, which he most definitely doesn't. 

 

Then Mycroft gets over his irritation and looks back to you, before he goes on cautiously, “But I do tend to agree that it might be wise for you to tell us if you know something that might be useful.”

 

But you just sigh as you look back at Greg, before, “I'm not saying he’s going to break her heart,” you begin carefully, “I just…” and you run a frustrated hand through your hair now so Greg takes a step forwards, looking as if he’s bracing himself for the worst. Then, “He just used to be a bit of a jerk when I was at school with him,” you say because what else can you? For you can’t tell them the truth that’s for sure. 

 

But Greg wants more for, “How? What did he do?” he asks you. 

 

And, _“I”-_ you hesitate, before you collect your thoughts together enough to say, “He was just a bit sly and sneaky,” and then, “He’d lie sometimes too,” you add for good measure.

 

But, “Well we all do that,” Greg interrupts, running a relieved hand through his hair, before, “Anything else?” he asks. 

 

And you hesitate for a second, before you shake your head. 

 

So, feeling satisfied for the moment, Greg swallows and nods, before he leaves the room and Sherlock follows him swiftly. 

 

But Mycroft lingers for a moment, his eyes locking with yours as he does so, and you blush underneath the intensity of his gaze, feeling very self-conscious of the fact that you’re in your pyjamas. Then he slowly begins to approach you and your breath hitches in your chest, before you watch as he bends to pick your book up off the floor. Then, after straightening up again, he makes to hand it to you. So your hand goes to grip the bottom of it but he doesn't let go of its top, and as you look up at him he says, “I had hoped that you might have been able to put whatever hurt you clearly feel from not having gotten back together romantically with Moriarty aside for the sake of Molly to be honest with us. Clearly I was mistaken,” in the hope that this will finally trigger a more honest reaction from you and then in turn give him all the answers he needs.

 

But all you can see as your lips part for a moment is the disappointed look upon his face and all you can feel is your heart sinking inside your chest at the sight. 

 

And it’s only when he finally relinquishes his hold on your book and makes to turn grimly away that you jolt back into life. So you drop your book hurriedly down onto the duvet, before you grab at his wrist.

 

Then he starts at the feel of your hand and you start yourself at the fact that you can now feel the soft thrum of his pulse just underneath your fingertips. 

 

And as he looks back at you once more he swallows, for at your sudden movement your pyjama top had shifted to reveal a slither of cleavage and his eyes fix upon it without being able to help themselves for a moment. Then when he catches himself not only admiring the view but wanting to move your pyjama top with his fingers so that he can get a better look he feels alarmed and hurriedly looks back to your face. And, in the next moment, oblivious to where his gaze had just roamed to, let alone as to what thoughts and feelings it had stirred inside him, you say, “I don’t know how you've come to think that but I've never gone out with Moriarty and I don’t want to.”

 

Yet, still feeling a little stunned with what he'd just wanted to do, he just stares at you for a moment. Then as he processes and takes in the truth of your words he can’t help but feel a sense of ridiculous relief go through him. But because he feels such a thing and because of the way he found his eyes sliding down and appreciating the view just now it’s abundantly clear to him that he was simply fooling himself before. Clear to him that he _does_ feel attracted to you more than just because of whatever mystery you’re hiding. And worried that you might be able to sense such a thing from the little breath that’s escaped his lips automatically he says as evenly as he can, “That might be the case but you’re clearly hiding something from us and the truth would be appreciated.”

 

So, feeling a little dejected by his response, you let go of his wrist, before you fix your eyes down upon the duvet.

 

And so, seeing that he’s not going to get the truth out of you tonight Mycroft leaves your room a moment later, his mind darting from how he feels even more intrigued than ever before because now with his earlier theory completely torn asunder he feels stumped as to what could have happened between Moriarty and you, to the troubling matter of how he'd definitely felt physically attracted to you just now... 

 

*

 

“I'm sorry,” Molly says the next morning as the two of you find yourselves walking to campus together and you look at her. So, “I wasn't sure whether to tell you about me seeing Moriarty or not since I thought you might like him in that way too,” and your heart pangs now as you recall the conversation you’d had with Mycroft the previous night, before you listen as Molly goes on, “I spent so much time going back and forth in my mind about whether or not I should because I didn't want things to be awkward between us, and then he wanted to come around and meet everyone yesterday so”-

 

“It’s fine,” you interrupt her, even though it really isn't, before you feel compelled to add somewhat awkwardly, “I'm sorry about not telling you I knew him. I guess, like you, I just didn't know whether to or not.”

 

And she nods now, before she says, “But it’s much better with everything being out in the open now isn't it?” 

 

So you nod and force yourself to smile at her, whilst inside you cringe because things are so far from being out in the open that they’re practically buried six-foot underneath the ground…

 

*

 

The next week though turns out to be a good one as Molly and you go out shopping together one day for something to wear to a Halloween party, and with her only mentioning Moriarty twice you find yourself relaxing with her again. Then you spend the next few evenings talking together and partly customizing your outfits in her room, before finally Halloween comes around. 

 

And you’re looking forward to going out that evening so much that you find yourself feeling very restless during the days lectures and one seminar, to the point where you wish that Halloween had fallen during the weekend instead. 

 

But finally the studying part of university is over for the day so you rush home, before you go to your room to get ready. 

 

And you pull on your new pair of black jeans, which you'd stuck glow in the dark sequins on to form a little ghost on one thigh, before you pull on your white top that has even rips along the bottom and finish off your look with a black cardigan and brown boots, which you tug on last. 

 

Then you straighten up and turn this way and that in front of the mirror on the inside of your wardrobe door. And you don’t look half-bad you conclude, before you run a quick brush through your hair. Then, feeling excited, you rush back downstairs, tottering a little in your boots, to see if Molly’s ready. 

 

And you think you hear her moving about in the dining room so you hurry in there as you begin to say, “Molly are you”- but then you break off and stop dead because it’s not Molly there but Moriarty. 

 

And, “Well, well, well aren't you a sight for sore eyes?” he asks, as he chews his gum idly and looks you up and down. So you do the same to him and as you do you see that his body is clad in tight leather trousers, a white top and a leather jacket and that in short he looks like he belongs in _Grease_. 

 

Then you fold your arms protectively against your chest, before you ask him, “What are you doing here?” 

 

So, “ _Someone’s_ in a friendly mood,” he comments, studying a fingernail briefly, before he looks back up at you again. Then, “What’s wrong with you?” he asks. 

 

So, “What’s wrong with _me_?” you exclaim incredulously, before, “Do you _really_ want to know what’s wrong with me?” you hiss. 

 

And he raises his eyebrows now, before he asks innocently, “Why is there a list?” so you huff at him. 

 

Then you take a step closer to him, before you tell him, “What’s wrong with me is not knowing what your angle is here,” and you pause and take a bit of a breath, before you ask, “What are you intending to do with Molly?” and your eyes are fixed on his completely now.

 

And he gives you a little look as if he thinks you’re crazy, before he tells you quite seriously, “I'm not intending to do anything with Molly apart from love her.” Then, “Isn't that right sweetheart?” he adds, looking behind you, so you turn now to look as Molly enters the room. 

 

But then you frown because Molly’s not wearing what she picked out when you went shopping together. For instead of wearing a cute white top with a picture of the red ghost from Pac-Man on it and jeans with a glow in the dark sequin bat she’s wearing a very short gold and white dress that has no connection with Halloween whatsoever. 

 

And, “What’s that?” Molly asks Moriarty as she goes across to him. 

 

So, “I was just telling F/N how much I love you,” Moriarty tells her and something burns inside you like acid. 

 

Molly though simply leans up to kiss him so you look away, before you look back as Molly says, “Sorry I'm not wearing what we worked on F/N”-

 

“But it was hardly sexy was it?” Moriarty finishes her sentence for her, before he looks you up and down again. Then, “In fact it was a bit pre-school,” he adds. 

 

So, “It was cute though,” Molly says, trying to make things better as usual. 

 

And, “Yeah,” Moriarty agrees, “But you’re not going to be bringing anyone home wearing that kind of thing,” and you flush angrily now, whilst Molly bites her lip, before she takes Moriarty’s hand and makes to lead him to the door. 

 

But, “Isn't anyone else coming?” you ask hurriedly as you trot after them so they stop to turn back to you. 

 

Then, “No, Sherlock’s out with John, Greg’s out with his mates and Mycroft’s at the library or something until late I think,” Molly says and your heart sinks. 

 

And your disappointment obviously shows on your face for Moriarty says in a singsong voice, “Sorry to disappoint,” with an annoying smile on his face that makes your fists clench momentarily by your sides. 

 

Still, like with dinner before, it is too late to get out of it now so you let Molly and Moriarty take the lead as you walk up to campus together, whilst you follow behind them like a naughty child trailing after its parents. 

 

Then once you arrive at the student union where the party is in full flow with cheesy Halloween songs pounding out [ _‘Somebody’s Watching Me’_ is the current one] you slip off to get a drink, whilst Molly and Moriarty go off to dance. Then as you stare at them glumly, whilst you stay by the wall, your drink of cheap beer in your hands, you can’t help but remember how you came to a party here on the night you first arrived. And you can even see some of the same people here too. There’s the girl with the bad dye job whose hair looks sun-bleached rather than sun-kissed. And stringy haired boy whose hair reminds you of runner beans. Along with confident jock guy who was one of those who was the first to look at you in disgust when you’d asked if anyone had a place to stay. And as you stare out at them all you wonder why you ever wanted to come to this party in the first place and why you were looking forward to it so much. And in fact you’re just thinking of leaving and perhaps seeking out Mycroft in the library when Molly and Moriarty return to you. 

 

Then, “Hey F/N,” Molly says, looking flushed and giggly from dancing, before she pecks Moriarty on the cheek and says, “I'm just popping to the loo.” And in one turn she’s gone, lost amongst the crowd, and you find yourself alone with Moriarty once more. 

 

So you look at him, before you make up your mind and begin to move away. But he grabs at your arm and pushes you back. So you let out a sharp little breath at the force of him, before a second later, once he’s let go of you, you wonder if he’d actually been that rough with you after all or if you’d just imagined it for your arm doesn't hurt at all. Then, “Before you go I should probably tell you that if you’re thinking of popping in to see a certain someone in the library I wouldn't bother if I were you. He’ll never be interested in you when you choose to wear things like that. In fact I’d be amazed if he was interested in you even if you didn't,” Moriarty says snidely. 

 

And you flush now and quickly finish your beer, before you glare at him, hating the pleased expression that’s on his face as you do so. Then you stalk away, tossing your empty cup in the bin as you go. 

 

But you don’t go to the library. Instead you just walk home underneath the navy sky, whilst the cold breeze makes your skin shiver. And so you fold your arms, whilst you fight back tears. For you feel so stupid. You should have known that Molly would invite Moriarty or that he would invite himself, as the case might have been, and ruin your evening in the process. And you know too that you shouldn't take his words so seriously but you can’t help it, especially when on this occasion he’d been right. For you _had_ intended to find Mycroft in the library and although you hadn't been going to throw yourself at him or anything like that you’d be lying to yourself if you said that you hadn't hoped he’d find you cute in your outfit and perhaps end up complimenting you in some way and therefore making you feel better about yourself. 

 

But as it is Mycroft never sees your outfit at all for you just slip straight to your room once you get home. Then you change into your pyjamas hurriedly and toss the night’s outfit on the floor as you do so, before you go to bed straight away. Yet Moriarty’s sly face and words haunt you even when you close your eyes. 

 

*

 

When you wake up the next day you feel groggy and rough as if you might be getting a cold so as a result of both that and what happened the previous night you're very subdued at breakfast, which turns out to be one of those occasions where everyone’s present at the same time. And you eat quietly and don’t say anything more to anyone other than, “Morning.” 

 

But you know that the others have noticed, for Molly keeps looking at you and then away again as if she wants to say something, whilst every now and then, during conversation, Mycroft’s eyes flit to you as if he’s expecting you to say something at that point. And Greg keeps shooting you questioning looks, before shrugging and going back to his breakfast, whilst Sherlock seems to be trying to read you. 

 

Then when you're all nearly finished Molly asks, “You’re not ill are you F/N?” before when you look up at her she adds almost apologetically, “Jim said that you weren't feeling too good last night and that’s why you left so soon and weren't there when I got back.”

 

And you swallow now, then, “I think I might be getting a cold,” you say, feeling weirdly grateful for the excuse that Moriarty has provided you with. 

 

But Mycroft turns his attention to you now. Then, “It was a shame you had to leave early. I know you were looking forward to it,” he states casually, and as your eyes meet his you know that he knows you weren't ill last night and that he probably doubts the truth of your cold. 

 

So you just nod, before you go back to your breakfast. 

 

Then, “Right, I've gotta go, anyone else coming with me?” Greg says as he scrapes his chair back, before he gets up to take his bowl to the sink and goes to grab his bag. 

 

And Sherlock follows suit without a word and Molly gets up too, before she looks at you as she tucks her chair in tidily by the table and asks, _“F/N?”_

 

So you swallow your last mouthful of cereal, before you shake your head and say, “I don’t have anything for a bit so I’ll just stay here for a couple of hours I think.”

 

And she looks in between Mycroft and you, before, “Okay,” she breathes. Then she follows after Greg and Sherlock.

 

And you are grateful to Mycroft when he at least waits until you both hear the door being shut, before he says, “What did Moriarty say to you last night?”

 

So you lean back a little and bite at your bottom lip as you consider his question for a moment. Then, “He just made some smart remark. It’s nothing to worry about,” you say as casually as you can.

 

And he considers you for a moment, before, “Perhaps it is if you’re missing your first lecture because of it,” he says as he looks away from you. Then as you look at him sharply his eyes turn back to you, before he adds a little bleakly, “I've got a good memory remember?”

 

And you don’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed now. But in the end you just look at the table and say, “He just winds me up,” whilst you wish that you could make Mycroft understand everything without actually having to tell him all the things you never want him to know.

 

And, “Don’t let him,” Mycroft says as he gets to his feet. Then he picks up his crumb-filled plate that has a dirty knife resting upon it to take them to the sink, but before he does he touches your shoulder fleetingly with his hand. And when you look up at first his hand and then his face you see that he’s giving you a half-smile. 

 

So you watch as he goes to wash up the breakfast things, before you get up with a small smile on your face and go to do the drying up. 

 

And he turns his head to look at you to say, “You don’t have to,” before he reminds you, “I'm supposed to be doing it on a Thursday remember?”

 

But you just look at him for a moment, taking in his eyes and skin. Then you wonder if you were brave enough to stretch out a hand and caress his face whether it would feel as soft as his hand had when you’d shaken it that day when you’d first met, before you blush and say, “It’s okay,” softly. 

 

But he’s looking at you now, his hands still as they lie half sub-merged in the soapy water in the washing up bowl. And for one moment you think that something might happen between you but then something shifts in his eyes. And you can’t know how he’s just recalled how he should really be trying to focus on his studies and not get distracted by you, whether he feels physically attracted to you or not. Not to mention the fact that you’re still hiding whatever happened between Moriarty and you so he doesn't really know you as much as he’d like, along with the fact that he’s still scared about his growing feelings for you. And, with all that in mind, he turns his gaze back to the washing up bowl so that he might be able to focus on all those things more completely rather than on wondering what it would be like to kiss you. 

 

*

 

A loud bang goes off in your ear on November 5th and you jerk out of what you feel sure was a pleasant dream involving Mycroft, before you sit up in bed with a start, only to yell out, _“Sherlock!”_ in frustration when you raise your hand to discover that your hair is covered in the remnants of a party popper. And you feel even more frustrated when you hear Sherlock and John laughing as they race out of your room.

 

But now you’re awake there’s no way that you’re letting them get away with it so easily and you hurtle after them, the streaming colours from the party popper spilling off you as you do so, only to find out that they've disappeared. Then you trot downstairs, before you cautiously enter the dining room. But you've barely taken a couple of steps when something grabs you around the middle so you let out a yell, before you get hurled to the floor. And Moriarty’s face flashes through your mind so you fight to turn around, before when you do so you let out a relieved laugh upon seeing that it’s only John wearing a belt diagonally across his khaki t-shirt, which has several party poppers clipped to it and combat trousers. 

 

Then Sherlock steps forwards as John pins down your arms and sits on your middle, before he says, “Ah, thinking of planning a sneak attack to get your revenge were you? You’ll have to get up earlier than that to hoodwink Captain Holmes and his First Mate.”

 

So, “ _Captain_ Holmes?” you question as you look up at John and he blushes a little, before he rolls his eyes as if to tell you to _please_ not mention it ever again. 

 

Sherlock though bristles at the fact that you’re making fun of his little game, before he draws himself up and says, “Yes, _Captain_ Holmes, and if you don’t accord me the proper respect that I deserve then you’ll find yourself having to walk the plank F/N L/N.”

 

And you snort now, which makes Sherlock look at you sharply. Then, “And where might that be?” you ask before, “Are you going to make me walk off the roof of the main campus building?” you tease. 

 

And Sherlock doesn't get the chance to do anything more than look irritated with you, for in the next moment Greg comes in, carrying Molly over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift as she laughs and pounds her fists against him. Then, “I found you another hostage Captain Holmes,” he announces. 

 

And you swing your head to give Greg a look that says, _‘Not you too!’_

 

But, “Good,” Sherlock tells Greg, before, “Put her next to our first one,” he orders.

 

So Greg lets Molly down next to you and she sits down. Then John clambers off you so that you can wriggle up into a sitting up position too. 

 

And, “If you don’t want to walk the plank you’ll have to assist us in our mission,” Sherlock tells the pair of you. 

 

So Molly and you exchange a look, before you decide together silently. Then you turn back to _Captain_ Holmes and nod in unison. 

 

So, “Excellent,” Sherlock begins, looking pleased, before, “In that case you _may_ have wondered why my brother has not interrupted us, which is a fair point when you consider how close we are to his bedroom and how loud we’re being,” and he pauses now and you wonder, though you hadn't before, about Mycroft’s silence yourself for a moment. Then, “The reason he has not disturbed us is because I slipped a crushed up sleeping pill into the cup of tea he made himself before bed last night. So he is, until we wake him, out for the count as they say.”

 

And you can’t help but feel a little impressed that Sherlock managed to do such a thing without Mycroft realizing. 

 

But, “That still doesn't tell us what you want us to do,” Molly pipes up and you nod your head in agreement. 

 

So, “Ah, for today Molly Hooper, F/N and you will serve as my willing and _very_ quiet audience,” Sherlock reveals as a wicked smile emerges on his face. Then he goes on to tease you both, “But if you do well and prove yourself loyal to me and me _alone_ by not waking up our victim”- and he pauses now to send you a knowing look and you blush-“Then you might find yourselves having a bigger role in the future.” 

 

And that is how ten minutes later you find yourself creeping into Mycroft’s bedroom, Sherlock taking the lead, then John, Molly and you, whilst Greg brings up the rear. 

 

And as you enter it your eyes automatically notice how neat and organized everything is, before they get drawn to the figure in the bed. Mycroft’s on his side with his back to you and all you can see is his auburn hair peeking out over the top of the duvet. And your heart skips a beat at the sight of him, for he looks so adorable and you think that you’d love nothing more than to just slip into bed behind him and wrap your arms around him, before you catch yourself and blush a little. 

 

Then as you, Molly, Greg and John remain by the bottom of the bed, whilst John, as Sherlock’s First Mate, is a little closer to the action by the side of the bed; Sherlock clambers tentatively up onto it. 

 

And you think for a moment that Sherlock’s made the ascent successfully without being noticed, but then Mycroft shifts so your heart gets stuck somewhere in your throat, John’s body stiffens, Greg stifles a nervous giggle and Molly looks anxious, whilst Sherlock’s eyes stare very hard at his brother. But although Mycroft rolls onto his back with his mouth slightly open his eyes remain shut. 

 

So Sherlock, even more cautiously now, stumbles around his brother and steps over his legs carefully so that he is trapped between them and the wall. Then John carefully leans across and passes him the final party popper, which is twice, if not three times bigger than the one Sherlock and he woke you up with earlier. And Sherlock takes it from him gingerly, before he crouches down and holds it close to Mycroft’s face. 

 

Then your body stiffens as you brace yourself for the incoming noise. 

 

But Sherlock simply looks at his brother’s sleeping face in glee for a moment as little does Mycroft know what, in any second, will happen. 

 

Yet just as Sherlock is about to let the chaos commence Mycroft’s eyes open, before he says, _“Boo,”_ softly. So Sherlock stumbles back and as he does so the party popper explodes over him. Then Mycroft moves one leg to trip him up and sends him deftly down to become a multi-coloured heap on the duvet, before he looks at his brother with a grim kind of satisfaction on his face. And, “Did you really think I wouldn't notice the sleeping pill?” he asks, before as Sherlock blows a piece of coloured streamer out of his face he adds, “You’ll have to get up earlier than that to hoodwink _me_ Captain Holmes.” Then in the next moment the eldest Holmes brother folds the corner of his duvet back, before, fully dressed apart from his shoes, he gets out of bed and strides out of the room. And on his way out he sends a quick wink towards the rest of you and your heart jumps in your chest. For it has been a most exciting start to the day. 

 

*

 

Instead of going to watch the fireworks later on though you hole up in the library. For your first essay’s due in the next day and you want to read through it one last time and make any final adjustments. At least that’s the reason you've convinced yourself is the truth. To be completely honest though you could have done that earlier on and the main reason that you haven’t gone is because you feel sure that Moriarty would be there and, what with everything that happened on Halloween still fresh in your mind, you don’t want a repeat performance so soon. Still, it’s probably a good thing for your essay that you haven’t gone. For even though you've been working on it for a while and think that you've used enough sources to back up your points when it comes down to it you’re not really sure. And you’re still frowning at it on your laptop and scrolling back and forth between the different sections when a soft voice asks, “Not going to watch the fireworks?”

 

And you look up with a start to see that it’s Mycroft, wearing a grey woollen coat and blue and grey striped scarf over his usual smart attire, before you watch as he slides into the seat opposite yours. Then you swallow as his eyes come to fix on yours, before you say, “No,” and then when you feel that you should say something more you add, “I haven’t really watched them for years.” And you bite at your lip a little as the memory of your parents handing you a sparkler when you’d been a little girl and when you’d been wearing those f/c gloves and scarf that you’d loved so much comes back to you. Then, “I used to watch them all the time with my parents when I was little,” you tell him and Mycroft takes in the haunted and wistful quality of your voice for a moment. 

 

Then, “Well, if you don’t fancy going down to the actual field itself I believe we can still see them from here,” he says because something about your tone has made him want to watch the fireworks with you. And though your gaze had been going back to your essay at his words you look at him and wonder if he is really suggesting what you think he is, what you _hope_ he is, or whether your mind has just made it up. But, “That is if you’re not busy?” Mycroft adds a moment later to make his intentions more obvious because he can tell from your face that he hasn't made such a thing clear enough, and your heart does a little flip in your chest. 

 

And, thinking about your essay, you do try and consider it for a moment, before inevitably you end up saying, “No, no, I think I've just finished actually,” and he smiles so you switch off your laptop and slide it back into its bag. Then you follow him outside into the cool, dark night as your heart beats anxiously in your chest. 

 

He goes to sit on the steps just in front of the library and you hesitate a moment, before you go to sit down next to him tentatively. 

 

Then you look out across the concourse and beyond the little wall that lies just a few feet in front of you and follow the downwards curve of the campus towards where, behind some trees that sway in the breeze, you know the playing fields where the Bonfire Night event is being held to be. Then you let out a little gasp as the first firework illuminates the sky, shooting off bright yellow sparks, before the noise of it comes a second later. And at your noise Mycroft turns his head to look at you and he finds that his eyes become transfixed by you. For with your wide eyes, parted lips and an expression that’s full of amazement and wonder you look as if you've never seen a fireworks display before and as if you’re experiencing everything for the first time and he finds such a sight intoxicating. 

 

Then, after a few minutes, you break out of your firework-induced trance and come to be aware of Mycroft watching you so you turn your head to look at him. And he lets out a little breath as you do, and then for a moment you just stare at each other. Your face is so close to his that you can see his eyelashes and see yourself reflected in those blue eyes. And your eyes lock with them for a moment, before your gaze drops down to his lips as you wonder what it would be like to just close the gap between you and kiss him. There’s no one around and with the fireworks acting as a backdrop it would probably be the most romantic moment you've ever experienced, that is if he kissed you back. But you’re not brave enough to do so, so you just break the moment by turning your head away to look at your knees instead. And he clears his throat automatically now to clear his own mind. For in that moment every reason that he'd ever come up with to not kiss you had vanished from his mind and all he'd wanted to do was lean forwards and taste you. But that moment's gone now, like a firework's light sinking into the sky, so he gets to his feet and turns back to you as he murmurs, “We should probably be heading back.”

 

And you hesitate a moment, your eyes going back to the fireworks. Then as a haze of red and yellow sparks fill the sky, you look back at Mycroft and say, “Yeah, okay,” before you stand up too.

 

And he looks at you for a second as you brush yourself down, before you fold your arms across your chest. Then, “Are you cold?” he asks you. For after all in jeans, a cardigan and a thin t-shirt you’re hardly dressed as appropriately as him. 

 

So, “A little,” you say, but even before you get the words out he’s shrugging his grey woollen coat off and handing it to you. So, “Oh, thanks,” you say awkwardly, for the look in his eyes tells you not to argue. Then you slip it on and though it’s a bit big for you, it’s so warm from his body that it makes you swallow. 

 

And he looks at you for a moment. Then he swallows himself because he finds you even more appealing now that you're wearing it, before he begins to lead the way off campus and back home. 

 

And neither of you say much on the way but it’s nice nonetheless to have his coat over you with his smell on it and to have him so close beside you. 

 

Then, just as you come to stop outside the house on the corner you slip back out of his coat and hand it back to him with a slight blush on your face as you say a little timidly, “Thanks, for this and-and the fireworks,” and you really want to do something else now so you sort of bounce up and down on your heels for a moment as he watches you curiously. And his lips begin to part, before you finally decide that you will do it after all. So you break the gap between you, rest your hands delicately just beneath the front of his shoulders and reach up to kiss him on the cheek. 

 

And he freezes momentarily at the feel of your lips brushing against his skin, before as you draw back a little and look up at him shyly a faint blush crosses his cheeks and a smile breaks out across his face. Then as you turn around, looking rather pleased with yourself at your accomplishment, his fingers go up to trace where your lips had been a moment before on his skin, before he makes to follow you inside eagerly. 

 

And too pre-occupied with what had just happened neither of you notice Moriarty standing on the other side of the street with a smirk on his face at what he’d just witnessed. 

 

*

 

It is the end of November and there’s a distinct chill in the air when everything takes a turn for the worse. 

 

And you’re standing in the hallway, clad in your warmest jacket but still feeling cold with a large group of other students waiting for the last lecture to finish so that you can go into the lecture hall for yours, when your Personal Tutor, Abigail Nixon, a short, blonde haired, smartly dressed woman with rather piercing green eyes, pushes her way through the crowd to you. 

 

And, “Ah F/N, I was hoping I’d find you here. I know you have a lecture now but would it be possible for me to talk to you?” she says.

 

So your heart jumps nervously in your chest but you get out, “Of course,” whilst your throat feels suddenly tickly. 

 

And she looks relieved and the sarcastic side of you makes you want to laugh, for did she really expect you to turn her down? Then, “Let’s go to my office,” she says, before she adds, “It’ll be quieter there,” and so you weave through the crowd and cross briefly outside, before you go into another part of the campus and swerve left towards the stairs. 

 

Then, “So F/N how are you finding university so far? Are you enjoying it?” she asks as you begin to climb the stairs together. 

 

And, “Um, yeah, it’s good,” you say vaguely in a very Greg like way. For your mind is still very much on why she might want a word with you, and you can’t help but think that it must be important if she’s willing for you to miss a lecture because of it. 

 

But she just smiles at you knowingly, before she leads you through a set of double doors as you come to the second landing and then down a small corridor. 

 

Then outside a brown door, which has a black strip across it with her name in white letters she stops. And you wait as she unlocks it, feeling more anxious now that it’s closer to being the time where you find out what all this is about, before she ushers you inside first. 

 

Then you notice that both sides of her office are covered in shelves, which are full of dry looking textbooks, some of which you see that she’s written herself. And you sort of hover awkwardly in between it all, before she gestures to a chair in front of her large, wooden desk and says, “Take a seat F/N.” 

 

So you swallow as you go to sit down and then your hands fidget together nervously, whilst your heart beats unevenly in your chest as she takes off her coat and puts it on the back of her chair behind her desk.

 

Then she sits down upon said chair and looks at you immediately after doing so, and the intensity of her gaze makes your own drop down to the dark purple stapler on her desk that’s sitting on top of some papers amongst some paper clips. 

 

Then, “So why do you think I called you here today F/N?” she asks you. 

 

And you’d been very much hoping that she’d just get to the point and not make you play a guessing game with her so you simply shrug a little, before you realize that could be seen as being rude. So you say, “I don’t know,” quickly in an attempt to cover it up, whilst your eyes dart between her and her desk. 

 

And she moves some of her papers around now so you look at her again and then she meets your gaze as she says, “Well it’s about the two assignments you completed recently,” and your heart sinks now. Then she shifts her position a little, before she goes on, “The thing is F/N they were both very low scores. One was a fifty-eight per cent, the other a fifty-two I believe?” and you nod your head gloomily as the memory of how silent and distant you’d been from everyone on those result days comes back to you. “And I know we’re only just half-way through your first term and you’re probably thinking that it’s early days and that this is an over-reaction, but studies have shown that how you do in your first term often reflects the final grade that you graduate with,” she tells you and it’s your turn to shift your position now. “Also I've been talking to your Professor’s and they've all come back to me with similar things, which is that though you’re a nice enough person and clearly trying you’re not really showing that you’re engaging enough with the subject material,” she goes on, before she pauses as your heart drops even further down your chest and you can’t even look at her, preferring to look at your fidgeting hands instead. Then, “So, you’ll have to forgive me, but I have to ask whether there’s anything happening in your personal life that might be getting in the way of your studies?” and your mind goes to Moriarty, Molly and finally Mycroft now, before you shake your head. So she lets out a little breath. Then, “Okay, in that case I'm afraid you’ll have to treat this conversation as a warning that if you don’t start to pick up your scores then you might seriously have to think about re-doing your first year and graduating a year later than your peers,” she finishes and you swallow, before as your lips start to tremble you nod, not trusting yourself to speak. 

 

She dismisses you a moment later.


	3. Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up when you get a new teacher, whilst a Christmas party only makes things even more interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thank you for your support. :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, please tell me what you think of it if you can. :)

There’s another student waiting to see her outside the office door, and so with tears already beginning to spill down your face you duck your head down as much as you can, before you stride away. You attempt to swipe away your tears as you walk, but every time you think they've gone more reappear. And its not until you clatter back down the stairs and come to be standing outside the door to the lecture that you've missed the first twenty-minutes of that you change your mind and move away. For there’s no point in going now, you wouldn't be able to concentrate _or_ engage, you think moodily. 

 

And you’re still struggling with your tears as you go around, climb the steps back up to the main campus and begin to cross the concourse, thinking as you do so that you’ll just find a quiet space to sit down in for a moment and perhaps get a cup of tea from somewhere when, not looking where you’re going, you collide headlong into a soft, warm object. 

 

So you look up with a gasp and an apology forming on your lips when you see that it’s Mycroft in his grey woollen coat and grey and blue striped scarf standing there. His hands automatically went to the side of your shoulders as you collided with him and he pushes you gently back a little now, before he lets go of you. 

 

Then upon seeing your tear-stained face he blurts out, “F/N what is it? What’s happened? Has Moriarty done”-

 

But you shake your head now, a small smile coming to your lips in spite of yourself, because at least it isn't that. Then you sniff a little and attempt to wipe your face dry once more because you must look so pathetic to Mycroft right now. 

 

But, instead of chiding you, he reaches into his trouser pocket and withdraws a blue handkerchief from one of them, before he passes it to you. And you look a little hesitantly at him so, “It’s clean,” he tells you and a small, choked kind of laugh escapes you, for of course it is. Then you take it from him and as you wipe your face and blow your nose with it you see, as Mycroft stands close to you protectively and looks away to give you some privacy, that it has his initials on it in gold lettering. So when he looks back to check on you a moment later and sees your gaze he tells you automatically, “I got a set of them on my seventeenth birthday from my grandparents,” before something inside him cringes because you probably didn't need to hear that. 

 

But you simply nod, before a breathy kind of giggle escapes your mouth as you lower it in your hands and tell him, “I’ll wash it.”

 

Yet, “Keep it,” he tells you as he shakes his head. 

 

So you pocket it hesitantly. 

 

Then, “Let me take you home,” he says, before when you look at him he adds, “If my memory still serves me you’re finished for the day and I haven’t got anything else for a couple of hours.”

 

So, “Okay,” you breathe, but before you can take more than a step he makes up his mind and shrugs his coat off and, “You don’t have to,” you tell him.

 

And, “I know I don’t,” he says as he holds it open for you and you turn around now so that you can slip your arms through it, “But I want to,” he adds with his mouth close to your ear and you shiver a little, whilst your eyes pop, before he brushes some invisible dust off your shoulders. Then he squeezes them briefly and you blush as you turn back to him, before, “Shall we?” he asks as he offers you his arm. So you smile a little as you link yours through it as you look at him. Then a beat passes between you, before you move away from campus together. 

 

And neither of you say anything for a few moments but you can tell that Mycroft wants to know what’s made you upset so you swallow, before you say, “My Personal Tutor called me in for a word,” and Mycroft peers down at you now. So, “My essay marks were rubbish and s-she said that if they don’t pick up then I might have to re-do this year…” you confess. 

 

And Mycroft instinctively squeezes your arm with his now, before a, “I'm sorry,” escapes his lips. 

 

And you nod, but he doesn't seem to know what else to say to you and a voice can’t help but chide in your head that you’re on your own in this and not even Mycroft can make it better. And all in all you feel so ragged from the thought of being so stupid that you might have to re-do a whole year or quit altogether that you can’t find the words to say anything either. 

 

So in a way it’s a relief when you get back home, even if it does mean that Mycroft has to unhook his arm from yours to first unlock the door, before he holds it open for you. 

 

So you give him a half-smile, before you cross the threshold and then shrug his coat off so that you can hang it up. 

 

Then you join him in the kitchen where he’s already put the kettle on, before you lean opposite him against one of the counters. 

 

And he looks at you consideringly for a moment, his hands half-behind him as his fingers clutch onto the curve of the counter, before, “I could tutor you if you wanted?” he suggests. And your heart does a little flip in your chest at his words and you must look anxious, for he says, “I mean, I'm not an expert in the process myself and nor would I consider myself one, but I got decent enough marks on my first couple of assignments”-

 

“But we don’t even do the same subject,” you interrupt, ignoring the screaming voice inside your head that’s telling you to go for it. 

 

And he shifts a little before, “I think the pattern is probably a similar one,” he begins, and then when he sees that you’re still looking uncertain he adds with a slight edge in his voice, “If you don’t want to do it though that’s fine, it was just an”-

 

But, “No, it’s not that,” you say and he looks at you now, so, “I think I’d like to,” you begin, before you add hurriedly, “As long as you’re sure that you don’t mind?” 

 

And, _“Good,”_ he breathes, ignoring the second half of your sentence altogether as the kettle comes to boil and you smile at him. 

 

Then, “So”-

 

“When”-

 

You both start at the same time and you blush a little, before he waves his hand at you to go first. 

 

So, “Um,” you fumble out now, before, “I was just going to ask you when it would be a good time for you to do it in?” But he just smiles at you now so, _“What?”_ you ask him with a smile of your own tugging at your lips. 

 

And, “It’s funny but I was just going to ask you the same thing,” he says and you grin at him now as your heart does another little flip in your chest so he smiles at you, before he goes to pour the tea. 

 

* 

 

Your first tutoring session with Mycroft happens that following Thursday. You've banished everyone to their rooms or anywhere else that isn't where you are so that you've got the whole dining room table to yourselves. And you've printed off the two essays that you've had low marks in so that he can see where you’re going wrong. It was Mycroft who had suggested doing such a thing and you’d been reluctant to do it at first for you hadn't wanted him to think you stupid, but then seeing your uneasiness he’d said, “I know they might not be something that you’re keen to show me, but I can hardly help you without knowing where you’re going wrong,” and his argument had been so strong that you couldn't even go against it. 

 

But now, as you sit to the side of him and watch his face anxiously as he reads over them, you’re beginning to wish that you’d argued against it some more. For you must sound so stupid and unknowledgeable to him and the fact that his face isn't giving anything away doesn't help either. For apart from the slight furrowing of his brow the rest of his face is perfectly even. 

 

Yet as you wait for his response you can’t know how Molly and Greg have snuck from the living room to be within hearing distance of the pair of you and that Molly’s already very giggly about the prospect of listening in to you both so Greg’s trying to gesture for her to be silent, even though it’s a rather futile thing for him to be doing since he’s got a grin on his face too. 

 

Then, “Ah,” Mycroft says once he settles the papers back down to the table once more, and your heart beats unevenly in your chest, for what does _‘Ah,’_ mean? Whilst in the hallway Greg raises an eyebrow at Molly upon hearing the word and she covers her mouth with her hands and swallows frantically to try and stem her giggles so that she might be able to listen properly. And she just manages to get herself back under control by the time Mycroft swallows, just to leave you in suspense for longer, before he goes on, “They’re not terrible by any means, but I think I can see where you’re going wrong.” 

 

And you nod now, feeling a little braver, for at least he isn't being cruel. Whilst in the hallway Molly’s eyes soften at how gentle Mycroft’s trying to be with you and Greg nods approvingly.

 

Then, “For one thing a lot of your sources are on-line ones and not from journals, and the ones you have used from books are from non-specific sources,” Mycroft begins, and you nod to show that you’re keeping up so he continues, “You also need to use more sources generally to back up what you’re saying and find a better balance between the two, which I think you could do by cutting down your introduction down a bit. Your conclusion could also be more succinct,” he finishes, before he takes a bit of a breath. Then, “Let me see now,” he says as he pulls a blank piece of writing paper towards him and begins to write down an example of a shorter introduction that you could have used. And at the sudden break in the conversation Greg, feeling curious, tiptoes closer towards the dining room. Then as Molly gets giggly again at the sight he turns back to her and raises a finger to his lips. So she nods back at him and makes to follow him, before they both peer cautiously into the room just as Mycroft looks up at you again and says, “Here, take a look at that.” Then they watch as you shift your chair a little closer to him and as you read his new version, before they listen as when you look back up at him he asks, “Was that better?”

 

And, “Yes,” you say, whilst Greg and Molly duck back into the hallway, for you already feel encouraged by the progress you’re making.

 

“Then why don’t you have a go at doing the conclusion in the same way?” Mycroft asks you. 

 

So you nod, before you tug your old conclusion towards you and then begin to make a new one underneath what he’d written. 

 

Then at the silence again Greg can’t resist peeking back in to see what Mycroft’s doing as you write. At first he sees that Mycroft’s clearly trying to not look at you, and perhaps he doesn't want to make you feel uncomfortable or put you off Greg thinks now. But then a moment later Greg watches as Mycroft’s gaze goes to you. And then as he sees how Mycroft’s eyes fall to fix on the cute way that you’re sticking your tongue out of your mouth in concentration he gestures hurriedly for Molly to look too. And she does so just in time to see Mycroft swallowing, before he finally turns his gaze away from you. 

 

Then you finish writing a moment later so you push the paper back to him and he reads over it, before, “Not bad,” he says in an impressed tone so you grin at him. 

 

And when Molly sees and hears that she has to duck back into the hallway and clap her hands over her mouth to stop herself from squealing. So Greg ducks back a moment later and grins at her, whilst his eyes sparkle, for he can tell what she’s already hoping for just by looking at her excited face. And sure enough a moment later, “We have to get them together,” Molly breathes just loud enough for Greg to hear. Then having seen enough she scurries back into the living room and Greg takes after her with a grin on his face. 

 

In the dining room meanwhile the study session is continuing with you both on Mycroft’s laptop as you try to find possible sources for future essays. And together you find a list of five different journals that you can use as a starting point, along with a list of textbooks, and when you look them up you see that you can find most of them in the library, whilst the others are available cheaply on certain websites. 

 

Meanwhile in the living room Molly is thinking out loud to an amused looking Greg and, “Right, well the first thing we need to do is to get them to both admit how they feel…” she begins, before she trails off. And then a blush takes over her face and she gets giggly again, before, “Sorry,” she breathes as she waves a hand to try and calm herself down, “I just keep seeing the way they were smiling at each other and the way he was looking at her tongue.” Then when she sees the way Greg’s staring at her with a broad smile on his face and his eyes dancing with life she asks, “What is it?” 

 

So, “Oh nothing,” Greg begins airily, before he adds, “You just look really cute when you get excited that’s all,” and his smile grows even broader when she ducks her head and blushes, before she looks up and then as their eyes meet for a moment they just stare at each other.

 

“We’ll look up more websites next week,” Mycroft promises you in the dining room, before like any good teacher he sets you homework when he says, “In the mean time though I’d like you to try to re-write half of your first essay. I've already done the introduction for you tonight so it shouldn't be too difficult, and then perhaps we can work on the second-half together the same time next week?”

 

And you nod now, a beaming smile on your face, for you feel so excited and invigorated with what you've learnt. Not to mention eager to put it into practice to show Abigail Nixon that you won’t have to re-do your first year after all. So, “Thank you,” you breathe, before you stand up and start to gather up your things.

 

And, “It was my pleasure,” Mycroft replies, before he can’t help but add, “Oh and F/N?” and you look at him now, “I can’t see there being any possibility of you graduating a year late,” and you smile at him now, feeling more grateful for him in that moment than he could possibly know. 

 

And you practically feel like you’re floating on air as you walk back down the hallway on your way to take your things back upstairs.

 

Molly hears you as you go past and she starts out of the daze she’d found herself slipping into as she’d lost herself somewhere in Greg’s chocolate eyes. Then she gets up and, “I’ll go and talk to F/N, you take Mycroft,” she says a little breathlessly, before she darts off. 

 

And as Greg watches her he can’t help but wonder what might have happened if you hadn't chosen that moment to walk down the hallway…

 

Then when Molly enters your room a moment later it is to find that you've dumped your things happily onto your bed and that you’re now sitting on it with a dreamy expression on your face. And as you tug yourself out of your daydream you can’t help but grin at her. 

 

So she grins back at you as she closes the door behind her, and then she looks practically giddy as she says, “F/N, you’ll have to forgive us but Greg and I couldn't help but overhear some of your study session, and oh my gosh Mycroft and you would make such a cute couple!”

 

And you blush now, whilst something like an eel wriggles about in your stomach. 

 

Then as her grin grows she comes to sit beside you on your bed, before, “And I know you said before that you didn't have feelings for him, _but_ …” she trails off suggestively as she looks at you with wide, eager eyes. 

 

So, “Well, I guess I was kind of lying to you before,” you admit now as your blush grows, for there’s really no point in denying it any more, especially when you’re pretty sure that she’s known for a long time anyway. But when Molly lets out a bit of a squeal you feel compelled to add hurriedly, “I don’t know if he feels the same…”

 

“So we have to find out,” Molly says with a clap of her hands as her eyes light up. 

 

And downstairs Greg peeks into the kitchen, before he strolls in as Mycroft, still at the table on his laptop, looks up at him. 

 

So, “I thought I heard F/N going upstairs,” Greg says as he goes to switch the kettle on and Mycroft nods distractedly, his eyes going back to his laptop screen. But then Greg turns around and leans against the counter, before he asks slyly, “So was she a good pupil?”

 

And a light blush immediately crosses over Mycroft’s face so he tries to swallow it back down, before, “She was,” he finally says softly. 

 

And Greg grins now as Mycroft ducks his head behind his laptop screen. 

 

*

 

You’re up first the next day so you start to prepare the breakfast things by taking the different cereals, toast in the toast rack, butter, marmalade, milk in the milk jug and plates and bowls across to the table. 

 

And you’re almost done and just getting out the cutlery from the drawer when Greg, fully dressed, enters with a towel over his shoulders and his hair all wild and damp. 

 

So, “Morning,” you tell him, before your eyes dart to the door. And noticing your gaze he looks over his shoulder for a moment and then back at you. So, “Um, there’s no one else coming is there?” you ask. 

 

And he stops now and raises his eyebrows, a quizzical look on his face, then, “No,” he says, before, _“Why?”_

 

So you swallow now and then, “Um, because I wanted to ask you something in-in private,” you confess.

 

And a small but hesitant kind of smile comes over his face now. Then as he slides into a seat by the table he says, “That sounds rather delicious.”

 

So you make a sound in your throat and grab the rest of the cutlery, before you go and sit opposite him, laying the cutlery down in a messy heap on the table as you do. Then your eyes dart anxiously to the door, before they check that Mycroft’s bedroom door is still shut, and it is, so, “Um,” you begin as your eyes swing back to Greg. Then, “As a guy, what would, I mean, what would a girl have to do for you to realize that she likes you, y’know, in that way?” you ask with a blush on your face. 

 

And Greg’s smile instantly becomes more mischievous, before, as you look at him, he muses, “Well, if a girl looks at my lips a lot, invades my personal space or touches my arm then I can usually tell,” and you nod thoughtfully, “But you’re not thinking about _me_ are you?” he adds slyly now and you shake your head, still blushing. Then, “Mind you, I once had this friend at school and it was obvious to everyone but him that this girl liked him. She was practically draping herself over him,” he goes on, before he adds hurriedly, “Not that I think you should do that mind, because Mycroft’s a gentleman and that would probably freak him out,” and as the visual image of you draping yourself over Mycroft pops into your head you can’t help but blush even more. “So, if you want him to notice, why don’t you go with something a bit more subtle to begin with? At breakfast when he reaches for something try and reach for it yourself at the same time. Your study sessions should be a good time to try something too. Try sitting a bit too close to him at times and see how he reacts.”

 

And you nod now but neither of you get the chance to say anything more for you both hear movement on the stairs and then Molly and Sherlock come trooping in. 

 

Then a moment later Mycroft steps out of his room and comes across, and as he sits down beside you Greg gives you a meaningful look. So instead of shifting your chair away from him to give him more space you shift your chair a bit closer to him. Then, “Morning,” you tell him as you lean forwards slightly and turn your head to look at him. 

 

And he turns his head to look at you now, before he blinks momentarily and swallows when he sees how close you are. Then, “Good morning,” he replies. 

 

And you can’t help but smile a little, whilst your heart does a flip in your chest. Then you carry on eating your cereal for a moment, but as Mycroft’s hand goes towards the milk jug Greg jerks his head at the gesture, whilst he looks at you, so you rather clumsily fling your arm out until your hand comes to rest gingerly over Mycroft’s and you both jump a little at the sudden contact, before you look at Mycroft as his eyes go to you. 

 

Then, “Sorry,” you tell him a little breathlessly as you withdraw your hand, vaguely aware of Molly and Greg grinning at the scene, whilst Sherlock rolls his eyes at the whole affair. 

 

But a moment later in spite of himself Sherlock can’t help but think how if he’d grabbed the milk jug at the same time as John, John’s face would have probably become bewildered. Then he’d have scrunched it up in that cute way he does and said something in a flustered fashion to cover the moment, before he’d have used the milk jug quickly himself and then passed it to Sherlock. 

 

Mycroft however acts differently than John. For whilst still looking at you he says, “It’s quite all right,” in a gentlemanly fashion, before he pulls the milk jug across. Then, “Let me,” he says, before he nods at your cereal bowl so you push it towards him slightly so that he can add more milk to it and you barely breathe as he does so. 

 

And, “That’s all right, thank you,” you say once he’s added enough as your hands come to rest on the bowl, and his eyes flick to yours for a moment, which makes your breath catch in your chest, before he withdraws the jug and begins to add milk to his own cereal. 

 

Then when you look away you see that Greg’s still grinning, whilst Molly looks positively breathless in her excitement for you so you blush and clear your throat a little. 

 

And Mycroft looks up at your noise, before he catches the expressions on Greg and Molly’s faces, so he quickly averts his eyes back to his cereal, which causes Greg and Molly to share a delighted glance with each other. Yet even though Mycroft feels embarrassed by Greg and Molly turning what had been an accidental action by you into something significant he can't help but feel hesitantly pleased because of such an action nonetheless. 

 

Then he listens as Molly suggests, “Actually, since it’s December now, I was thinking we should throw a party here, just for us, in the last week, before we go home for Christmas. What do you think?” 

 

And, “Yeah why not?” Greg says leisurely, before, _“Mycroft?”_ he prompts as he turns his head to look at his auburn-haired friend. 

 

So Mycroft looks up at him now and then at Molly, before he says, “Yes, I can imagine that would be most pleasant,” and goes back to his cereal. 

 

Whilst, “I'm all for it,” you say as Molly and Greg look at you. 

 

So, “Sherlock?” Molly asks hopefully. 

 

And, “Yeah, sure, fine, whatever,” Sherlock says distractedly, for his mind is still on John and his possible milk jug reaction so you all roll your eyes at him. 

 

Then after breakfast when you’re getting your bag ready in your room to leave for campus Molly enters and so, “The party was a really good idea,” you tell her as you turn around turn. 

 

And she grins now, before, “I thought of it last night,” she reveals. Then, “I was thinking if nothing’s already happened before then between Mycroft and you, which, I think if this morning was anything to go by then it will have,” she says, and your heart does a little excited jump in your chest, “Then it would be a really good opportunity for you to dress up and make him notice you.”

 

So, “You should be running one of those dating shows on TV,” you tell her with a playful smile on your face and she laughs now, before you grab your bag and follow her outside. 

 

*

 

Still, despite the fact that Sherlock had been distracted when Molly had first mentioned the party, that doesn't stop thoughts of it trickling through his mind for the rest of the day as he ponders about whether or not he should mention it to John. And yes he knows that Molly wants to restrict it to the five of them at the house. But that’s easy enough for her to say when she’s got Greg admiring her despite the fact that she’s supposed to be going out with Moriarty and even his brother has got you to fawn after so it’s not like he’ll be without a focus either. And such thoughts make Sherlock even more determined to not be left out and to ask John. 

 

So when he sees John walking away from the main university building later that day he races across the concourse and clatters down the steps after him. 

 

And he catches up with him at the bottom of the steps so, “Sherlock hi,” John says as he stops and turns to him with surprise in his eyes. 

 

So Sherlock runs an absent-minded hand back through his hair, before knowing that it’s now or never he goes, “We’re having a party.”

 

And, “Oh,” is John’s immediate reaction, for Sherlock had said what he had so suddenly that he’s not quite sure what to make of it. 

 

So, “Just before the Christmas holidays,” Sherlock gets out, before he then shrugs and tries a more casual approach by saying, “I think it’s mainly just being used as a vehicle to get my brother to go out with F/N,” and he pulls a bit of a face now, before he goes on with a thin trace of hope in his voice, “But you’re welcome to come to it if you think you’ll be able to cope with witnessing such things.”

 

Yet, “If it’s mainly happening because of why you said it was then it sounds like you could do with me there just to get you through it,” John jokes, before when he sees that Sherlock’s still watching him with a fixed sort of intent look in his eyes he says, “Yeah, of course I’ll come to it.”

 

So Sherlock smiles now. 

 

*

 

Yet despite your best efforts your next tutoring session with Mycroft passes without anything more than the occasional brush of your arms against each other. 

 

And in the last one, before the party, when you go down with your textbook and papers you feel determined to do something bolder and less subtle. 

 

So when you’re working on applying your new techniques to your latest assignment, which is due in a few days time and he’s working on something of his own quietly opposite you, you flick your eyes up to him for a moment, hoping that although he looks like he’s concentrating hard he’s noticed the gesture, before you place your free hand half-way across the table towards him in the hope that he will take it. 

 

And his eyes dart to your hand now, before they go to your face. Yet you’re not looking at him, you’re just sucking idly on your pen as you consider what to write next [it doesn't even occur to him that you might be waiting to see what he does] so his eyes fix on your lips for a moment, before he swallows and looks back at your hand. Then his heart beats unevenly in his chest because he doesn't know what he’s supposed to do. For the hopeful side of him wants to believe that you've put your hand there because you want him to take it. But the logical side of him says that because you’re not looking at him you _can’t_ have put your hand there because of that reason and that it must just be a casual gesture. So, because he'd rather play things safe than misread any signals he merely swallows again, before he goes back to his work. 

 

And you shift your position a few moments later and withdraw your hand feeling disappointed. Then maybe he’s not interested in you, you think. Maybe everything that’s happened between you so far, like Mycroft letting you wear his coat for example, was nothing more than him being an old fashioned gentleman…

 

But still, at the session’s end you can’t help but ask hopefully, “Will we still be carrying on after Christmas?” because you get the feeling that you’ll need such a thing to look forward to when you’re back in Brighton. 

 

And he looks up at you as if he’s most surprised that you felt the need to ask such a thing in the first place, before he reassures you when he says, “I thought that would have been obvious.”

 

So, _“Good,”_ you breathe in relief, before you add, “I mean, I'm glad that we are…” and then you trail off because quite frankly you’re just embarrassing yourself. But as you gather up your things quickly and make to take them upstairs Mycroft watches you with a small smile on his face.

 

*

 

The next day Mycroft’s hurrying upstairs, thinking that he’ll have a quick shower, before dinner [it’s Molly’s turn to cook] so he strides across the hallway and opens the bathroom door. And it’s only when he’s stepped inside and mostly closed the door behind him that he stops dead. For the shower’s in use. You’re inside it with your back turned to him as your hands wash your hair, and you must have forgotten to lock it he thinks vaguely now. Yet although he can only see the top half of you his eyes devour such a sight nonetheless, and it’s only when he realizes that he’s getting aroused by the sight of the soapy water sliding down your slick, wet back that he lets out a little breath and staggers backwards out of the bathroom. But he finds himself letting out a gasp a moment later when his body hits against something. Then as he turns around quickly he sees Sherlock standing there. 

 

So, “What are you doing?” Sherlock asks him suspiciously. 

 

And, “Um, I, that is, it’s um, it’s occupied,” Mycroft gets out now as he tries to force his mind back to the present, but he can’t get the sight of you out of his head and he finds himself thinking now that if you’d just moved slightly to one side then he would have been able to see the curve of your chest….

 

“But you were just inside it,” Sherlock points out with his brow furrowed.

 

So, _“I”-_ Mycroft begins, before at Sherlock’s raised eyebrows he says defensively, “It was unlocked.” 

 

And Sherlock folds his arms and considers Mycroft for a moment. Then his face clears and he looks smug as he says, “Three guesses who’s behind that door then. Molly’s downstairs and you wouldn't get so flustered at seeing Greg in the nude. So it couldn't be your _study buddy_ could it?” 

 

And Mycroft flushes, before, “I only saw her back,” he feels the need to say, though if the tightness of his trousers is anything to go by then that was quite enough to be getting on with.

 

So, “Let’s see then,” Sherlock says with a smirk playing around his mouth.

 

But, _“No,”_ Mycroft says just as Sherlock knew he would, before his hands go out to block the door.

 

And, “Why?” Sherlock asks him now; before, “If there’s barely anything to see then you shouldn't mind sharing the view, should you?” he asks. 

 

And Mycroft scowls at how annoying his brother is being. Yet Sherlock just smirks at him some more, before he turns around to go back to his room. 

 

And then as soon as he hears Mycroft scurrying downstairs, before you can discover him, Sherlock goes to Greg’s room. 

 

Greg’s sitting on his bed, idly looking through a football magazine, though he looks up when Sherlock closes the door behind him and asks, “You want my brother to go out with F/N don’t you?” 

 

And Greg’s brow furrows now, before, “I guess so, why?” he asks.

 

Then Sherlock swallows, before, “In that case there’s been a development that I think you should know about,” he says. 

 

So Greg closes his magazine and tosses it aside. Then he turns to face Sherlock as he stretches his legs out in front of him, before he says, “Go on,” with his chocolate eyes full of curiosity.

 

So, “F/N is in the shower,” Sherlock says, looking pleased to be the one to break such news and Greg’s brow furrows, for how is that a development in any sense? And it’s not like you’re not clean he thinks, but, “My brother just walked in on her,” Sherlock announces. 

 

So, “What happened?” Greg asks Sherlock eagerly as a grin breaks out over his face. 

 

And, “Well _apparently_ ,” and Sherlock makes quote marks with his fingers now around the word _‘apparently,’_ “He didn't see anything more than her back, but he was _very_ flustered,” Sherlock reveals. 

 

So, “That’s gold,” Greg breathes after a moment of thinking about it, before, “Wait until I tell…” and then he trails off.

 

So, _“What?”_ Sherlock asks quickly. 

 

And, “Well,” Greg begins as he ponders how to phrase such a thing for a moment. Then, “I was just thinking that maybe I better not tell Molly about this one. For she’d only tell F/N and girls can be all kinds of weird about that sort of stuff,” he concludes. 

 

And Sherlock nods in agreement, though, “That doesn't mean you can’t embarrass my brother about it though,” he says. 

 

So, “Where is he?” Greg asks as his eyes light up mischievously. 

 

And, “Oh, he’s just hiding in his room,” Sherlock says leisurely, before he can’t help but add, “He’s probably trying to work out why he’s got a tent in his trousers.”

 

And Greg snorts now, before, _“Right,”_ he says as he stands up, “In that case I think I just became suddenly very interested in waiting for dinner by the dining table,” and Sherlock grins now, before he follows Greg downstairs. 

 

Meanwhile as you leave the bathroom and realize that you forgot to lock the bathroom door you curse yourself, before you feel very glad that no one walked in on you, for that would have been embarrassing beyond belief. Then you go to your room obliviously to continue to dry your hair more. 

 

Whilst downstairs Mycroft waits a quarter-of-an-hour in his room as he tries valiantly not to think about you in the hope that will lessen his rapidly growing problem. But it’s no good, for his trousers still feel tight. So, hoping that he won’t run into you or his brother, he opens the door and steps out. 

 

But Greg looks at him straight away and, _“Mycroft!”_ he begins jovially, before he frowns a little and asks, “Is everything all right? You’re looking a little flustered, I hope you haven’t been doing anything I’d disapprove of.”

 

And Mycroft hesitates now, whilst his eyes narrow. For Sherlock couldn't have told Greg, could he? But then, of _course_ Sherlock's told Greg he thinks scornfully, before he sighs inwardly as he thinks that his brother probably relished doing such a thing. 

 

Yet before he has the chance to say anything Sherlock waltzes in and says, “Yes, Greg’s right brother dear, you do look a little odd. Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?” And Mycroft swallows now, but then it gets worse for Sherlock goes on conversationally, “Your trousers look a bit tight too, would it be time to replace them you think? You’re rather threatening to spill out of them at the moment.”

 

And Mycroft’s face burns as he rushes to leave the room, whilst Sherlock grins in satisfaction behind him and Greg howls with laughter, whilst Molly throws them both a puzzled look as she continues to make the night’s meal. 

 

But then things get even worse for Mycroft for he collides with you as he comes round the corner at the bottom of the stairs, and at the feel of your soft body suddenly against his and the smell and sight of your damp hair, which just serves to trigger the memory of what he’d witnessed earlier, Mycroft knows that he’s in a very dangerous position indeed. So he just says, “F/N,” as evenly as he can, before he moves you to one side slightly with his hands just beneath your shoulders. Then he hurries past you to go upstairs where he needs to take a very cold shower indeed. 

 

And when you enter the dining room Greg’s laughter only gets worse and even Sherlock starts chuckling so you look at Molly questioningly, whilst you wonder why on earth everyone’s acting so weird. But she doesn't seem to know either. For she just shrugs her shoulders at you. 

 

*

 

Mycroft dreams about you that night. You’re in the shower again and he’s standing by the door, only this time you turn around and your eyes meet his, before suddenly he’s there with you even though he’s still fully dressed and he can feel the water soaking through his shirt as he reaches across to caress your breasts. Then he wakes with a jolt. And it takes him a moment of blinking, before he realizes that it’s morning. Then in the next moment he lets out a groan of frustration because he realizes that he needs to take another cold shower.

 

*

 

The night of the Christmas party comes and Mycroft’s just in his room combing his hair when Greg enters suddenly and closes the door behind him. 

 

So Mycroft frowns and lowers his comb, before he turns around to look at him. Then, “Gregory is there anything I can”-

 

But, “Let’s be honest here,” Greg begins and Mycroft stiffens slightly at his bullish tone, “You want to get into F/N’s pants”-

 

And, _“Gregory!”_ Mycroft splutters in horror, a flush creeping up his neck.

 

But, “Now don’t go denying it, not after shower-gate and everything,” Greg tells him as he points a finger at him. 

 

So, “Oh, must you _really_ call it that?” Mycroft sighs, before, “I've already had Sherlock making out to Mummy on the phone that I've got some kind of fetish for women in water. Not to mention the lecture that I then had to endure from her about not getting anyone pregnant…” and he runs a weary hand across his face. 

 

And, “You’re _still_ denying it then?” Greg asks. 

 

So Mycroft shifts his position a little, before he relents, “Well, I wouldn't put it the way you just did, but”-

 

 _“But?”_ Gregory pushes him as he folds his arms. 

 

So Mycroft blushes and runs a frustrated hand through his neat hair, messing it up again, before he admits quietly, “But I suppose it would be a lie if I told you that I've never wondered what it would be like to kiss her.”

 

And Greg looks at him now, before he runs a hand through his own hair. Then he huffs out in relief, “Good, we’re making some progress at last with you being more honest about your feelings at least.”

 

“But I don’t know if that’s what she’d want,” Mycroft tells him now as his hand fidgets with his yellow comb, and he looks unusually vulnerable for a moment, before he manages to cover up his emotion again. 

 

Yet, “Well let me tell you something, you're not going to know either unless you make a move on her,” Greg begins perceptively now. And then as Mycroft looks at him a little warily Greg goes on, “So this is what’s going to happen. I've got it from a good source, that would be Molly by the way, that F/N is going to look smoking tonight,” and Mycroft blushes and fidgets again. “So as soon as you see her you’re going to compliment her with the first word that pops into your head. You’re not going to over think about it or worry about what she wants. You’re just going to do it. Then we’ll see where things go from there okay?”

 

And Mycroft lets out a little breath and then he swallows and nods. For that doesn't sound like anything he can mess up at least. 

 

Meanwhile, upstairs with Molly, you’re examining yourself in the mirror. 

 

And, “You look amazing F/N,” Molly tells you. 

 

So you smile for a moment, but then, “You don’t think it’s too much?” you ask her. 

 

And, “No, it’s perfect,” she tells you, but you still look uncertain so, “Mycroft’s going to love it,” she adds and a smile lights up your face now. Then, “I'm going to go down now okay?” she tells you, before she adds, “You should wait up here for a moment and then make your big entrance.”

 

Then she leaves, looking amazing herself in her blue knee-length dress, gold hoop earrings and red lipstick so you take a little breath, before you sit on top of your bed.

 

Molly though makes her way carefully downstairs, holding onto the banister, which has green tinsel wrapped around it and sprigs of holly upon it, before she swallows a couple of times when she reaches the bottom and then pushes herself forwards towards the living room door. 

 

The room looks amazing. There’s tinsel and Christmas cards over the mantelpiece and a roaring fire inside it, snowflake decorations across the walls and of course the centre piece, a tall tree in the corner, fake unfortunately, that has been luxuriously decorated with red and gold baubles and silver and blue tinsel, whilst wine and wine glasses fill the coffee table and soft Christmas music plays in the background.

 

The boys are already there, standing opposite the door, a glass of red wine in each of their hands as they talk quietly together. But at the sound of her the conversation between them falters and then their eyes all seem to turn to look at her as one. 

 

And as they do Molly notices that Sherlock looks smart, as does Mycroft, but it is Greg that her eyes are drawn to. Greg, who she’s used to seeing in jeans or football uniform, but not like the way he looks tonight, which is smart in a grey suit, even if his white shirt does stick out a little from underneath his jacket and she feels a little breath escape her at the sight of him. 

 

But if she’s beginning to worry about what he’s making of her than she needn't have worried for his eyes seem drawn to her too. And his mouth drops open in an approving fashion as he looks her up and down, before he closes it momentarily as his eyes go back up to her face. Then he says, “Wow, Molly, you look amazing,” and a broad grin appears on his face, before, “Why haven’t we had a party here before when you look that good?” he jokes. So Molly gives him a pleased grin back, before she ducks her head momentarily in a shy fashion.

 

And at the sight Mycroft shifts a little next to Greg as he squares his shoulders and readies himself to hopefully make you look as pleased as Molly does now. 

 

Yet despite his movement being a slight one Molly picks up on it and so she looks up at him, before she says, “F/N should be coming down in a minute.” Then at the sight of him letting out a little nervous breath, Sherlock rolling his eyes and Greg looking more serious as he hopes that Mycroft can follow his advice and pull this one off Molly smiles, before she goes over to fetch a glass of wine for herself. 

 

Meanwhile upstairs waiting by yourself has just made you feel even more tense and anxious so after a few minutes, and what you hope is enough time for Molly to have been greeted and complimented, you get up, look at yourself one last time in the mirror and then nod and square your shoulders. For this is it. It’s time. So you exit your room and make your way carefully downstairs in your heels, your hands holding onto the wall and banister for support. Then you push back your hair a little from your face and take a deep breath, before you go towards the living room. 

 

You see Mycroft at once. He’s positioned himself in line with the door and as he talks to Sherlock and Greg with a glass of red wine in his hand he looks more handsome than ever in his dark suit, light blue shirt, deep blue tie and smart dark shoes that have been polished to perfection. Then there’s a gap in the conversation and his eyes swing around the room, before they fix on you and his lips part slightly, whilst your own breath catches in your throat. 

 

For he can’t believe how beautiful you look. Your dress suits and fits you perfectly, showing off your figure and making his mind dart back to when he’d seen you in the shower. And he swallows, before he finds himself moving instinctively towards you, very much aware of everyone watching both him and you as he does so. Then he stops before you and the words, “F/N you look lovely,” spill out of his lips. But a moment later he feels like kicking himself. 

 

For he knows that he’s said the wrong thing as soon as your face creases up slightly in disappointment, before you get out a quick, “Thank you,” as you don’t even look at him and then go towards Molly. 

 

And he wants to call after you now, to say that you look a thousand things aside from lovely and that, that one word alone could never have done you justice, but though his mouth moves no words come out and then a hand claps upon his shoulder. 

 

So Mycroft looks around to see that it’s Greg but, “Ah, you really messed that up mate,” Greg tells him, which only makes Mycroft’s heart sink even more, and as he returns dejectedly to Sherlock, Sherlock just shakes his head at him in disbelief. And Mycroft can’t quite believe that he’s managed to mess everything up either so he goes to sit down in the armchair opposite the settee so that he might be able to process it all better. Then Sherlock and Greg, whose eyes keep flitting to Molly, sit down on the settee a moment later. 

 

Meanwhile Molly tries to console you in the corner of the room by telling you, “Lovely, well that’s not a bad”-

 

But, “ _Lovely?_ Lovely isn't fantastic, wow, amazing _or_ beautiful,” you get out now, waving your hands around a little, “It’s just _lovely_ , like the equivalent of nice or average or something,” and trying to make you feel better Molly pushes a full glass of wine into your hands so you sip at it briefly. But, “No, you know what? That’s it. I'm not waiting around for him any more. He’s had his chance,” you huff, because you can't bear it any more. You can't bear making a fool of yourself by trying to sit close to him, or trying to touch him, or by now dressing up for him and having him respond like you've just done something completely ordinary. You can't bear to put yourself through any more of that and have him just reject you with words at the end of it all. So you take another long sip of wine, before, “I think I’ll go upstairs,” you breathe, for you suddenly feel more teary than angry. 

 

But, “Oh no F/N _don’t_ ,” Molly says and she grabs your arm with hers now, before, “Please stay, at least for a little while, I’ll be the only girl if you don’t,” she reasons.

 

And you consider her for a moment, before you nod slowly. Then, “Okay,” you breathe, because you might feel hurt and upset right now and like part of your heart's shattering inside you but you owe it to Molly, who's been so kind and encouraging, not to spoil her night too.

 

And a smile graces her face, before she frowns a moment later when the doorbell rings. Then she looks across at the boys questioningly, but Sherlock, catching her gaze, says, “Don’t worry, it’s only John.”

 

And, “ _John?_ But tonight’s just supposed to be about us,” Molly protests, and her tone almost makes you laugh in spite of yourself. For you can’t know that she’s thinking that if she’d known John was coming she would have invited Moriarty too. But Sherlock just shrugs as if he thinks John is one of them, before he gets up to go and let John in. 

 

Then when you feel Mycroft’s eyes go to you, you feel your own face instantly growing more serious. But instead of looking at him you just fold your arms protectively against your chest instead. For you're not going to let yourself feel any more hurt than you already do tonight, and definitely not because of him. 

 

Yet still you feel glad when Sherlock re-enters the room a moment later and your eyes watch him as he manages to sit back down on the settee, before John enters the room with an armful of beer cans. Then you watch as John looks around at the decorations with a boyish kind of smile on his face, before he says appreciatively, “Wow, I really like what you've done with the place.” 

 

And, “That would be down to us,” Molly says now, gesturing in between herself and you. 

 

So John finds the pair of you now, before his mouth drops open. Then he closes it momentarily, before he says, “Wow, you both look amazing,” and Greg gives Mycroft a pointed look as if to say _that’s_ how it’s done. And as Mycroft watches you thank John shyly with an adorable blush on your face he wishes that he’d caused that reaction in you. Then, “If I didn't have a girlfriend already I would _totally_ ”- John begins. 

 

And, “Yeah, why isn't Sandra here tonight John?” Sherlock interrupts now, much to Mycroft’s relief because he really doesn't want to hear what John would _totally_ be trying to do with you if he didn't have a girlfriend already.

 

And John simply looks irritated with Sherlock for a moment, before, “It’s _Claire_ Sherlock,” John stresses. Then, “Sandra was the last one,” he explains, before he adds, “And she’s out with her own mates actually.”

 

And naturally Sherlock looks pleased that there’s no chance of Claire joining them. 

 

Then, “So what have I missed?” John says as he comes over to join the boys, before he unloads the beer onto the coffee table. 

 

And, “Oh, just my brother being an idiot,” Sherlock says as he looks at Mycroft disparagingly and Mycroft huffs a little.

 

Then, “Yeah, because apparently Mycroft thought that the word _‘lovely’_ was a strong enough one to describe what F/N looks like tonight,” Greg fills John in despairingly, before his hand closes in on a beer can, which he opens with a small pop. 

 

So, _“Ouch,”_ John begins, before, “I would have thought that you of all people”- and he breaks off now when Mycroft looks at him with narrowed eyes as if to ask, _‘What does that mean?’_ -“I just mean, you kind of always look like you've swallowed a dictionary mate”-

 

And, “Yeah,” Sherlock interrupts, “You would have thought that you’d be able to pluck a more suitable word out than _‘lovely,’_ brother dear,” and Mycroft glares at him. 

 

Then his eyes seek you out once more as he blocks out the sound of the continuing conversation that’s going on around him. But you’re still in the corner talking to Molly, though you pause in what you’re saying as you sense him watching you, before your eyes flick to him. And Mycroft feels a sudden surge of hope rise within him. But then you look away again and his heart sinks, before a moment later he looks dejectedly away from you again. 

 

*

 

Then the next morning Molly and Greg, being the first ones up, discuss the matter of Mycroft and you as they get the breakfast things ready and, “…They’re _hopeless_ aren't they?” Molly concludes.

 

And Greg nods now, before he shakes his head as, “ _Lovely_ though,” comes back to him. 

 

And Molly groans a bit now, before she says, “I know,” and then she adds, “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with _‘lovely,’_ but F/N’s right, it wasn't good enough.”

 

But, “Talking about good enough,” Greg begins now with a roguish kind of smile on his face, before he goes on, “You definitely looked more than good enough last night,” and Molly, in spite of everything, can’t help but smile and feel pleased now, which in turn makes Greg feel happy. Then a beat passes between them, before; “I suppose we’ll just have to leave banging their heads together until after Christmas?” Greg muses as he goes back to the original topic of their conversation. For as much as he wants to go on complimenting Molly he knows that there’s only so far he can push and still be respectful, what with her having a boyfriend and all, even though, and he can’t help but feel thrilled now as he thinks this, Molly did seem both happy last night and just now that he’d said such things to her.

 

So Molly nods, before, “Well, unless we lock them in the house together over the holidays so that neither of them can go home,” then, _“Nah,”_ she adds as she dismisses the idea. 

 

And, “Nah,” Greg agrees. 

 

*

 

That night though there is an unexpected guest at dinner. _Moriarty._

 

And you’re body is already tense enough therefore, but your eyes only narrow further when he leans back and says consideringly, “Actually, this is all right, but I think it would have been better if whoever cooked it had added more spices don’t you?”

 

So, “F/N cooked it,” Molly tells him meekly. 

 

And as your eyes lock with his you can tell that he already knew it was you who had cooked it, whether from seeing the rota that’s pinned to the fridge or by some other means. But, “In that case it makes more sense,” he says, before he asks you, “I suppose you didn't want to make it too hot so that it would go with your new innocent persona F/N?” 

 

Instead you don’t grace him with an answer. You just shove a mouthful of food in your mouth and try to cool down the anger that you can already feel beginning to burn you up on the inside, whilst your hands tremble ever so slightly. 

 

And Mycroft’s eyes flick to your hands now, before he says, “I think it’s nice,” tentatively in an attempt to try to partly make up for his lacklustre word at the party, and in spite of yourself you find yourself looking at him gratefully. Yet Moriarty only looks more gleeful at Mycroft choosing to participate in this little game. 

 

Still, for a moment though, all Moriarty does is drink some water and you hope that he’s had his fun for the night and he won’t say anything more. But with Moriarty, as you well know, there is always more and, “Still,” he says, “We’ll save the heat for tomorrow night won’t we babe?” and he winks at Molly now. Then he looks around at Mycroft and Sherlock’s tense expressions and at the way Greg looks ready to kill him as his hands fist around his cutlery and then finally at your narrowed eyes, before, “Oh, didn't you tell them sweetheart?” he asks. 

 

So, “Yes, I meant to ask you all actually,” Molly begins now, and you wait with bated breath for her to go on, not liking what this is sounding like at all-

 

But, “Well, _tell_ you actually,” Moriarty begins with a bit of a fake nervous grin as he slides an arm snakelike around Molly’s shoulders, “That since we won’t be seeing each other for a while, what with the holidays and all,” and now he breaks off to roll his eyes as if Christmas is such an inconvenience for his love life, before, “Molly and I would like to spend some _quality_ time together tomorrow night. So, that is,” and he pauses again now. Then he makes his meaning very clear when he says, “Unless you like to hear the sounds of people having sex you should probably make yourselves scarce.” 

 

And Sherlock pulls a face and Mycroft looks uncomfortable, whilst Greg just swallows. For he feels surprised that Molly’s relationship with Moriarty has reached such a point already as Molly’s hardly the type to just throw herself about. Which leads on to him feeling worried that Moriarty’s the one pushing for such a development in their relationship and he can’t help but wish suddenly now that he hadn't been so relaxed about what you’d told him about Moriarty when he’d confronted you in your bedroom about it before. 

 

You meanwhile can’t take any more so you put your cutlery together upon your half-full plate, before you ask firmly, “Molly, can I have a word with you?” and your tone of voice tells her that it’s not really a question but a command. So she nods and gets up quickly, looking a little anxious as she does so. Whilst Greg meanwhile can’t help but feel suddenly grateful for you. For by the looks of it you seem to be having similar thoughts to his own and perhaps where he would have just fumbled over such a conversation, you, as a woman yourself, will be able to do it in such a way that won’t be as awkward. 

 

But once you've left the room together Greg’s thoughts come to a sudden halt, for Moriarty says as an aside, “They’re probably just planning to go lingerie shopping first thing tomorrow.” Then as his eyes come to fix on Mycroft he says, “Maybe F/N will get some for herself whilst they’re at it,” and Mycroft’s hands tighten on his cutlery, whilst his eyes fix on his dinner determinedly. But Moriarty’s not done yet for, “What d’you think she’d look good in Mycroft? Some f/c lacy ones perhaps?” he muses, and Mycroft makes a non-committal sound in his throat. 

 

So, “I think you should leave,” Greg tells Moriarty coolly, his eyes lacking their usual warmth, for it’s one thing to know that Molly intends to have sex with such a man tomorrow, but quite another for that man to rub it in everyone’s faces as soon as Molly’s out of sight. 

 

And Moriarty turns his head slowly to look at Greg now, then, “Yes, I wasn't much enjoying this anyway,” he agrees, before he lets his cutlery fall from some height against his plate with a clatter. Then he drops his napkin down in the plate’s middle, before he gets up and leaves. 

 

So, “Are you all right?” Greg asks Mycroft as soon as Moriarty’s gone and when Mycroft nods slowly, before his hand reaches for his water, he adds, “Fucking git.” Then, “I'm starting to think F/N was right about him.”

 

And, “That wouldn't have anything to do with you wanting to be in his position tomorrow night would it?” Sherlock asks now and Greg scowls at him. 

 

So, “You’re one to talk,” Greg growls, pushing his nearly empty plate aside and wiping his mouth with his napkin. Then he lowers said napkin and scrunches it up in his hand. But Sherlock’s just looking at him now so Greg continues, “Getting jealous over John every time he gets a new girlfriend,” and Sherlock frowns so Greg lays his napkin down forcefully on the table. Then he says in frustration, “Look at us, none of us are with who we want to be,” and Mycroft swallows and leans back in his chair, whilst Sherlock gives up on eating and so the three of them just sit there in a brooding and very unfestive silence. 

 

Meanwhile just outside the house you’re asking Molly, “Are you sure about this?”

 

But Molly just nods now, before she says fervently, “Yes, and I know that you've had some reservations about him and that you’re just looking out for me F/N, but I think he’s a different person now from the one he was when you knew him.” Then she pauses to catch her breath, before she adds more quietly, “And I know that you’re frustrated because things aren't happening as quickly as you’d like them to with Mycroft, but can you please just be happy for me about this?” and as she stares at you desperately you look back at her, not sure what to say for the best. 

 

But before you can say anything you hear the sound of someone coming quickly up the steps. Then in the next moment Moriarty appears and you bristle immediately as you wonder if he’s been listening to your every word with Molly. 

 

And, “Hey girls, I thought you might be out here,” he says as he comes to wrap his hands around Molly’s waist and kiss her on the neck. But then as he pulls back and she leans against his chest his eyes are on you and you bristle. So he looks back at Molly as he says, “I hope she’s not putting you off tomorrow night babe,” and though it comes out teasingly you can detect a slight edge to his voice too. 

 

But, “No of course not,” Molly says and her hand goes to clutch at Moriarty’s now. 

 

So he smiles at her and then kisses her briefly, before he says, “Good. See you tomorrow night then.” And he throws a wink your way now and you feel sick, before he swaggers away. 

 

Then, _“See?”_ Molly says as she looks after him adoringly and you nod, not daring to speak, because you know that you’re both seeing very different things in the one man that’s strolling down the street. 

 

And apparently Greg’s started to see Moriarty in a different light too. For when you pass each other on the landing a little later that evening he touches your arm briefly to get you to stop, before he looks at you with a serious expression on his face. Then he asks you quietly, “Um, I don’t suppose you got Molly to hold off on tomorrow night did you?” 

 

And he seems so despondent about the whole thing that for a moment you just look at him sympathetically, before you tell him in an equally quiet tone, “No I didn't,” and you wish that you could be telling him something else, especially when his face grows even more sullen. 

 

But, “Do you think he’s pushing her into it?” Greg asks, and, just as he had at one point all that time ago in your bedroom he sounds like he’s bracing himself.

 

And for a moment you just stare at him and take him in as you wonder how honest you should be with him. Then as his mouth parts you admit, “Quite honestly yes,” and when Greg lets out a little breath, before his fists clench at his sides you put your hands up in supplication and add quickly, “But she believes that she wants it too and she just wants us all to be happy for her…” and you pause now, before you admit reluctantly, “And I think, as much as I want one of us to try and talk to her again and make her see sense it wouldn't be a good idea, for she’d just push us away or argue, and even if that happened I don’t think it would stop her from going through with tomorrow night…”

 

“So we just have to let it happen?” Greg asks and he sounds both frustrated and upset now. 

 

And you hesitate a moment, before, “Yes, I think, in this case we do,” you tell him, though you’re far from happy at the knowledge that doing nothing, for once might be the best course of action in the long run. And then when Greg just lets out a sigh, but no words, you reach up to grasp his shoulder as reassuringly as you can and he gives you a forced smile. Then you swallow and nod at him, and he gives you a little nod back, whilst his eyes shine with emotion, before you start to head towards your room. But before you go in you turn to look back at him to see that he’s still in the same spot that you left him in, though his head’s turned as he stares off at the carpet distantly, so, “Greg?” you say in a wavering voice. And then as he looks back at you, you add, “I-I hope that one day they’ll break up, not that I want her to be unhappy or anything, but because he’s not right for her, a-and I think she deserves someone like you.”

 

And Greg’s eyes flicker with something and then he nods, before he goes back downstairs. 

 

*

 

The following evening you hole up in the library, before you just wander about a bit and try not to think about what Molly and Moriarty might be doing at that very moment. Greg meanwhile takes refuge in the pub with his mates, but though they are as loud and brash as they always are he broods quietly and drinks to try and not think about where Moriarty’s hands might be on Molly’s body at that precise moment. Yet when he finally stumbles home, and he’s left it until just after two o' clock to be on the safe side, all is silent. 

 

*

 

As you find out the next morning it turns out that breakfast with Moriarty is even more awkward than dinner with Moriarty.

 

You get down there early because you’ll be leaving to go back to Brighton later-Molly and Greg are leaving later on too and Mycroft and Sherlock the following day-and you still need to get what you’ll be taking there with you ready. 

 

But you wish you’d waited a while when you see that Mycroft is the only one there, for you've avoided being alone with him ever since the party in an attempt to keep some distance between you in the hope that you might be able to get over him at last. Yet still, you know that he’s seen you now, so you take a little breath, before you stride across and take your seat. 

 

Then, “Good morning,” he says, with his eyes on you cautiously as he studies you and tries to assess your mood. For he knows that he has to at least attempt to make things better between you now as he doesn't want you to leave for the holidays with things the way they are.

 

But, “Morning,” is all you say a little stiffly as your hand reaches for the cereal box, whilst your eyes don’t look at him. 

 

And though his heart sinks a bit at your attitude towards him he’s not going to give up on trying to make things right between you that easily so, “I feel bad about what happened the other night at the party,” he begins and you look at him now so he makes to continue. 

 

But before he can you say, “It’s fine, just forget about it,” and your hands go for the milk jug so he pushes it towards you tentatively and though your eyes flick up to him you don’t thank him. 

 

Then as he continues to watch you he knows that he should be saying more and making things right because they are not fine and he knows this. But at the same time he can tell that the last thing you want to do is talk about it. Yet he still wants to try and talk to you about anything if he can, so, “Are you looking forward to going home?” he asks you in the hope that this will make you more receptive towards him. 

 

And you nearly laugh at that because you feel more at home where you are right now than you ever have in Brighton. But in the end, because you can’t expect him to understand, you just say, “A little.”

 

So he tries to draw more conversation out of you when he states, “It’ll probably be nice for you to spend some time with your parents,” and you swallow now, but a half-smile forms on your face in spite of yourself as you realize that there is so much he doesn't know about you. 

 

Then, “I guess so,” you say, and he wishes that you’d be more open with him and trust him enough to tell him exactly what you’re thinking and feeling. Wishes that you'd even admit _why_ you'd felt so disappointed at the party, because he knows now by your reaction and the way you've been keeping your distance from him ever since, that you must, at the very least, care strongly about his opinion and about what he thinks of you. But he hopes too that by you doing these things it means that your feelings go beyond that. For if they did and you admitted such a thing then at least, even though he feels like he needs the holidays to think about things more, he'd have a better starting point and know that he's not just reading into things too much.

 

But it doesn't look like you'll let him know about such feelings any time soon for you just go back to your cereal. So he tries to think of things to ask you or that he can say that might encourage you to talk to him more as his eyes flit back and for to you desperately.

 

Yet his constant looks only make you eat faster, whilst you hope that you’ll either finish soon or that someone else will join you. 

 

But you should really have learnt to be careful for what you wish for as Moriarty is the first to join you, and to cap it all off he’s topless and wearing only loose tracksuit bottoms and a white towel around his shoulders. Whilst as he walks in with a particular swagger his eyes light up as he sees you both. 

 

Then, “Ah, my two favourite people, aside from my beautiful girlfriend of course,” he says, and as he comes to sit the other side of you Mycroft instinctively shifts a little closer to you, whilst he offers Moriarty a forced sort of smile when the other male’s eyes go to him. Then, “No ‘Good morning?’ There was I thinking you were a gentleman Mycroft,” Moriarty says and he nudges your elbow with his now so you jerk your arm away. Then he turns his head to ask you, “Is he always like this? I thought you would have had him better trained by now F/N?” And you don’t reply. So, “Of course I should probably remember that not everyone’s had a night like mine,” Moriarty says with a little grin and you frown now, before you listen as he goes on, “I didn't realize how ticklish Molly was.”

 

And you swallow and Mycroft can see how tense you’re becoming as he looks at you so he asks Moriarty, “Are you going home for the holidays?” as politely as he can. 

 

And Moriarty looks at you now as he chews on the edge of some toast, before he slides his tongue across the butter. Then his gaze goes back to Mycroft, who’s sending him a look of disapproval, before, “I figured I’d pop back there for a little while, probably not long though,” he replies. 

 

And Mycroft nods now and turns his gaze back to his own toast but then Moriarty asks him with a sudden sharpness, “What about you? What’s Christmas like for the Holmes’?” so Mycroft looks at him.

 

Then surveying him coolly he replies, “Oh, it’s quite quiet really.”

 

And, “Really?” Moriarty asks, and he sounds surprised now, before, “I find that hard to believe,” he states, but Mycroft only offers him a thin-lipped smile so “You’re not inviting anyone over to see chez Holmes then?” Moriarty asks, and his eyes drift deliberately across to where you've got your head ducked as you finish off your cereal, before, as he raises his eyebrows, they go back to Mycroft’s. 

 

So, “No,” Mycroft tells him curtly. 

 

And, “Shame,” Moriarty says as his hand slides across to the toast rack, and as it does so his chest is almost flat against the table, whilst his damp hair is dangerously close to knocking over the milk jug as his head twists like that of a playful cat to look at Mycroft, who sits up at his full height as he looks down his nose at him. Then, “What with Christmas being a time for love and all,” Moriarty goes on, and his hand clambers up the toast rack now like a spider climbing up a drainpipe, before he pulls a piece from it suddenly, leans back into his chair once more and draws the piece of toast to his lips. Then he takes a large bite out of its corner, his eyes peeking up innocently over it at Mycroft as he chews, before he looks around as he swallows and says, “Mind you, there’s not much love in here is there?” and then he pauses to toy with you both, before he goes on slowly, “I noticed there’s no mistletoe, why’s that do you think?”

 

So, “I imagine because the girls found it to be a rather tired tradition when they were considering what decorations to put up,” Mycroft replies as evenly as he can. 

 

And, “Is that so?” Moriarty asks as he looks at you, then, “So there’s no one that you live with that you’d like to kiss then F/N?” he asks. 

 

And you glare at him now. For the real reason that Molly and you had decided not to put mistletoe up was that if you ever get to kiss Mycroft, and you can't help but think that you probably won't now despairingly, then you don’t want it to happen purely because some mistletoe pushed you into doing it. You want it to happen because you both want it to at that particular moment. You want it to happen because the feeling and urge inside you both is so great that there’s really no other choice but to. What you don’t want it to be is a fumbling moment that leaves you questioning whether Mycroft did that because he wants to or because he felt obliged to. A decision that, what with all of Mycroft's unresponsive behaviour, you now feel most grateful for. And since Moriarty wasn't coming to the party Molly had been more than happy to let you take the lead on it. 

 

But you come out of your thought when Moriarty licks his lips as he finishes off his toast, before he says, “Well, thanks for breakfast and everything.” Then he gets up, before he adds playfully, “Oh, and I forgot to say earlier but the shower was nice too. I am _glad_ that no one walked in on me though because I kinda left the door open, _oops_ ,” and he pulls a bit of a face now as if to ask, _‘Aren't I so silly?’_ And something flickers in Mycroft’s eyes. Then in the next moment Moriarty grabs another slice of toast from the toast rack and a napkin, before he says, “I better go take this up for Molly, breakfast in bed and all that. Ciao,” and then he casts one last look at you both, before he finally leaves the room. 

 

But he’s only halfway upstairs when Greg begins to go down them and then when Greg turns the corner of the stairs and they spot each other Greg’s expression turns into a hard kind of unpleasant one. But Moriarty only looks more amused as Greg reluctantly makes his way to stop before him.

 

Then, “You should have heard the noises Molly made last night,” Moriarty begins, and then he pauses just long enough for Greg’s imagination to start conjuring what such noises might have sounded like, before, “Oh, I don’t mean during sex, though she got pretty loud then too,” he admits as a smirk forms on his face and Greg’s breathing grows more and more heavy as he tries to control himself and stop himself from hitting Moriarty with one of his clenched fists. “I mean just from me tickling her as she rolled around on the bed,” Moriarty explains, before he goes on to muse, “She looked so cute in her little rose pink nightie too, though,” and now he pauses, before, as he uses the toast he’s carrying to shield his lips so that only Greg can see them, he goes on in a secretive fashion, “I think you’d agree though that she looks more cute out of it.” Then, “Maybe you’ll get to see her the way I saw her last night one day,” he goes on, before he tilts the toast downwards in his hand, “Though I doubt it,” and then with an even bigger smirk on his face he leaves a fuming Greg behind and bounds up the rest of the stairs. 

 

*

 

You’re packing in your room a bit later, only needing a small rucksack for this trip thank God, when Molly enters with a happy smile upon her face and a small, square black box in her hands. 

 

Then, “James has just gone,” she informs you as you turn to her, before she says, “Last night was so wonderful F/N. He was so sweet with me, if you’d have seen him then all your reservations about him would have disappeared.” 

 

And you force yourself to smile at her, before you say as jokingly as you can, “I think I’ll leave seeing Moriarty naked to you thanks,” and she giggles. 

 

Then she steps forwards to hug you briefly, before she says, “Have a good Christmas won’t you F/N?”

 

And, “You too,” you tell her. 

 

Then, “Here, I got you this,” she says, but when she pushes the small box into your hands you make a sound of protest for you haven’t got her anything. Yet, “It’s okay, it’s only something small to remind you of all of us when you’re not here. Though, actually, I do have one request, would you mind opening it now?” she asks, and you look at her questioningly but she just nods at the box.

 

So, carefully you take the top off it, and then you let out a little breath when you see the most beautiful dark blue and white butterfly necklace inside it. Then as you tug it out the light catches against the deep blue colour of its wings and the sight of it makes you gasp a little. So you look up at Molly and tell her, “It’s beautiful.”

 

And Molly smiles now, before she hesitates slightly and then says; “I thought you could ask Mycroft to put it on you?” and you frown a little now. 

 

Then, “Oh, I don’t know,” you say as you shake your head a little dismissively. For whilst part of you can't help but want to run with the idea a larger part of you knows that you'll never get over Mycroft if you allow yourself to fall back into the same patterns.

 

But, “Oh go on F/N, at least give yourself one nice moment with him, before the holidays,” she says and you think about it some more, before you sigh a bit and nod as you relent, whilst your heart already begins to beat a little unevenly in your chest at the thought of it all. 

 

So once Molly’s left your room and you've collected the rest of what you’ll need together you go downstairs, before you dump your rucksack off to one side and head to the living room. Greg and Sherlock are watching football on TV. Or rather Greg is trying to watch the football, whilst Sherlock’s just criticizing all the players and saying where they should have moved to on the pitch instead of where they actually did. And when you peer your head around the door Greg just jerks his head towards the dining room knowingly so you mouth a quick, ‘Thank you,’ at him, before you withdraw your head again. Then you take a little breath, before you move forwards.

 

Mycroft’s not in the dining room or the kitchen though so you suppose that he must be in his room. And you go forwards and knock tentatively, before you call, “Mycroft?” softly. 

 

Then you hear a bit of a shuffling noise coming from the inside, before, “Come in,” Mycroft’s voice tells you, and his voice is even so you can't know just how apprehensive he feels about this being the last chance he has to make things right before the holidays. 

 

So you push the door open slowly, before your eyes come to fix on where Mycroft is sitting on the spinning chair by his desk and he swivels around in it now so that he can look at you. 

 

Then, “I’ll be leaving in a minute,” you tell him, whilst you raise the hand that has the necklace dangling from it to push your hair back a little. 

 

And he nods distractedly now as his eyes catch sight of the necklace shining in the light. Then as he jerks his head towards it he asks, “What’s that?” 

 

So you look at it now, as if you’d forgotten about it yourself, though of course you hadn't, and then you look back at him and say, “Oh, it’s an early Christmas present from Molly.”

 

And he gets up instinctively now, before he swallows because he knows that this is his chance, and then he asks with his eyes on your face the whole time, “Would you like me to help put it on you?”

 

So because this is the last chance for you to pull out you just duck your head for a moment. Then you look up again and as your eyes catch each other’s once more a blush crosses over the middle of your face, before you say inevitably, “O-Okay,” because no matter how much you'd like to be you're just not over Mycroft yet. 

 

Then you step forwards and hand it to him and your hands graze against each other’s as you do so, before with your heart pounding in your chest you turn your back to him and wait anxiously. 

 

And he swallows and then steps behind you, his own heart beating unevenly as his eyes roam over your back and he remembers the sight of it glistening with water. Then he delicately slips one hand on the front of your waist, before he applies a little pressure to get you to step back a fraction so that you’re even closer to him. And as your body brushes against his even more you let out a little gasp and start a little, before you settle down again. Then, feeling more satisfied with your position, Mycroft reaches up to push your hair aside. And he swallows again as the back of your neck is properly revealed to him, before your breath hitches in your chest as his arms go out around you to slip the necklace around your neck. Then as it taps against your neck your hand goes up to adjust it, before, once you’re satisfied, Mycroft fastens the catch to secure it. But then instead of moving away then, for his duty is complete, he just stares at the back of your neck for a moment, whilst he takes in the energy that is throbbing between you. And he knows, in that moment, that this is the starting point, whether anything is said out loud about it being so or not. So he puts his mouth close to your ear and murmurs, “I hope you have a good Christmas F/N,” and as his breath tickles against your skin you shiver slightly. Then he leans back once more and releases your hair from his hand with a flourish, and with the moment broken you swallow, before you step away from him a little and turn around. 

 

Then, “Thank you,” you tell him, before you make to go. But he clutches at your hand so you freeze momentarily, before you look back at him. 

 

So he clears his throat a little and then, “Actually, I've got a little something for you myself F/N,” he says as he lets go of your hand, before he turns to pick up a dark green plastic bag that’s by the bottom of his bed. Then he looks at you as he hands it to you and says, “It’s not wrapped I'm afraid…” for he'd only decided upon giving you it after breakfast that morning in the hope that if nothing else worked it might help fix things between you. 

 

“But, oh! It’s your coat,” you exclaim as you peer inside it, and you look up at him as soon as you see the grey woollen coat that’s folded as tidily as it can be in the bag, for you can’t accept it, it’s far too much.

 

Yet, “I want you to have it,” he tells you, before he goes on, “In any case I think Mummy’s getting me a new one for Christmas,” but then he stops to run a frustrated hand through his hair because he’s messing everything up again. Then, “You looked so nice in the times that you've worn it too, I thought”-

 

So, “Thank you,” you tell him, because you can tell that he's really trying to fix things and you feel your heart swell with hope in spite of yourself because if he's trying to do such a thing then it must, at the very least, mean that he cares strongly for you. And then, because you simply can't help it with such hope building inside you, you lean up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek just to spite yourself further, before you smile at his pleased expression when you pull away. And as both of you see the smile on the other's face both of you know that things are right between you now and that though things won't go any further today there's a possibility there for the future. And such a possibility makes you just stare at him for a moment and take in those eyes and the soft looking skin. But when you catch yourself you say, “Right I-I better be going then.”

 

So he nods and follows you out of his room. 

 

Then the first thing you see is Molly, Sherlock and Greg all standing behind the dining table, looking like judges in a reality TV show, as they all stare at Mycroft’s bedroom door, and you blush a bit at the thrilled expressions on Greg and Molly’s faces as they see you emerge, now wearing the necklace. 

 

And in the next moment Sherlock folds his arms across his chest, whilst he looks grimly satisfied, before he says, “Ah, there you are,” as if they've all been waiting there for an age. Then, “I must admit I've often wondered what it would be like to see a blushing woman leaving my brother’s bedroom and you don’t disappoint F/N,” and naturally that only causes you to blush more and your eyes go instinctively to Mycroft and he meets them with his own, before you both look away hurriedly from each other again because neither of you quite know what to do with these feelings yet. And Molly lets out an excited squeal so Greg shoves her in the ribs with his elbow as he clears his throat to cover her noise. Then you grin because you just can’t help it, whilst you wonder if Greg and Molly will ever stop trying to get Mycroft and you together for long enough to see that they’re perfect for each other. And perhaps they will, you think, if the problem of Moriarty ever goes away. 

 

Then with you leading the way and stopping briefly to tug your rucksack onto your back on the way out, you all troop outside. 

 

And, “So, um, I hope you all have a good Christmas and everything,” you tell them somewhat awkwardly once you've turned back to them to see that they’re all looking at you as they stand alongside each other.

 

So, “Have a good Christmas F/N,” Molly tells you, before she comes forwards to hug you tightly once more. 

 

And, “Yeah, have a good one F/N,” Greg says, coming to hug you once Molly steps back. 

 

Then you look at Sherlock who takes you in with serious eyes for a moment, before he says, “I hope you enjoy the festivities F/N,” and you nod as you try to suppress a smile because you don’t want him to think that you’re making fun of him, whilst Greg raises his eyebrows. So, “What, isn't that how you say it?” Sherlock asks once he catches Greg’s expression and Greg shushes him for you’re back to Mycroft once more. 

 

And the both of you stand in front of each other awkwardly for a moment, neither of you knowing whether you should hug or not. So your hands just wave about by your sides a little awkwardly as his blue eyes take you in. 

 

Then, “Go on and hug you two,” Greg urges and Molly grins. 

 

And, “Yes, whilst we’re young,” Sherlock adds with a little roll of his eyes. 

 

So Mycroft and you look at each other again now, before whilst you giggle a little you open your arms wide for a moment. Then you close the gap between you and hug him. And his lips part slightly at the feel of you, before he clutches you tighter to him, your rucksack getting in the way somewhat, whilst you let out a little breath against his chest and just breathe in his scent and take in the feel of him all around you for a moment as your own hands clutch at the back of his shirt. 

 

Then, “Have a good Christmas F/N,” he murmurs in your ear, before he lets go of you. 

 

And you swallow, before after one last long look at them all you turn away. And as you walk off down the street you can hear Molly and Greg calling after you for a moment, telling you to have a good Christmas, and feel both Mycroft and Sherlock’s steady eyes on your back. Then you hear Greg beginning to tease Mycroft about how long that hug was, whilst Molly laughs and Sherlock groans and you smile, already wishing for the time when you can return to them.


	4. Not Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You make a mistake that will cost you dearly when you go home for the holidays. Whilst Mycroft finds that he has a lot of things to think about himself during that time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thank you so much for your support, not just on this fic but on my other stories. It really means the world to me. :)

The further away you get from home and the closer you get to Brighton the more depressed you feel. So when you’re less than a quarter of the way there and already feel like you need comforting you tug Mycroft’s coat out of the plastic bag and pull it on, before you scrunch the bag up and shove it in your rucksack. Then you duck your chin down so that the collar covers it a bit as you rest your head against the window of the train and breathe in the scent of him as you look out across the gloomy landscapes. 

 

You usually get one train direct to Brighton from London but because of the busy season there’s been a change and you’re meant to get a second one for the last stretch of the journey. Yet when you get there that train’s not running so you get the bus instead and it’s odd to see the familiar attractions of Brighton, the pier with, because of the weather, its now rather battered looking union jack flags flying either side of a large sign that declares, ‘Brighton Pier,’ and the promenade now deserted in the winter, through the bus window. Odd too to get off the bus and leave the vandalized bus stop to walk down the street underneath the grey-white sky, which seems to hold the promise of snow but never deliver it. Odd too to be standing outside the house of your friend Evie and knocking on her door once more. 

 

And you’re left there waiting for a few minutes in the cold, shivering slightly and shifting your position, whilst you wonder if you should knock again, for you can hear the loud screams of her five-year-old twins Bobby and Sammy inside. 

 

But then the door opens and Evie stands there with Bobby pinned to her leg like a koala on a tree. 

 

And, “F/N, come in, it’s chaos in here,” she says, turning around now as suddenly as she came, her brown hair bobbing at the back of her head as she goes. 

 

So you follow her inside and as Sammy looks up at you from the table where he’s sitting on as he kicks out his legs back and for, a football on the floor underneath his feet, Evie looks at you over her shoulder as she tugs the white and blue kettle from its cradle with one hand and asks, “Tea?”

 

And, “Please,” you say as you plonk your rucksack down by the settee, which will be your bed for the duration of your stay. Then you go to sit by the table. 

 

Evie evicts Sammy from his perch a moment later as she plonks your tea down in a white chipped cup and you smile at it. For it’s a world away from the china ones that Mycroft’s got at home, which were a gift from Mummy. 

 

Then she sits down opposite you and her brown-green eyes take you in for a moment as she sips at her tea, before, “Is that a man’s coat?” she asks as she lowers her cup to the table. 

 

So you draw the coat closer around you, before you tell her, “It’s unisex,” defensively. 

 

And she looks at you now and sniffs a bit, before, “It looks like a man’s coat,” she says. 

 

So you think that you should have left Mycroft’s coat at home now, rather than bringing it here. And, wanting to get away from the topic, you say, “Thanks for doing this.”

 

And she nods now. Then, “Well, can’t have you with nothing to come back to at Christmas now can I?” she says and you swallow now. For as much as you’re grateful you can’t help but think that if this isn't nothing than what is? And you wish now that you’d stayed at home. The only reason you hadn't was because it would have looked strange and you’d no doubt have had to tell the others then that your parents had died in a car crash just over a year ago…

 

“…F/N are you okay?” is what you hear as Evie’s voice finally draws you out of your thought now. 

 

So, “Um, yeah, sorry, I just got lost there for a moment,” you say as you run a flustered hand through your hair, before you drink more of your tea hurriedly. 

 

And, “So how’s university going then?” she asks.

 

*

 

As every minute goes by all you’re reminded of is that this isn't home. As the kids run around getting underneath everyone’s feet. As you eat a dinner of baked beans and toast, whilst your mind thinks of Mycroft’s cooking. As you help Evie to wrap the kids Christmas presents that night once the kids have gone to bed. As every long, agonizing minute ticks by all you can think of is that none of this is yours and that perhaps, no matter what you would have had to tell the others, you should have stayed at home rather than come back here. For you left in the first place to get away from it and all the bad memories it holds so it’s just doing the opposite by forcing yourself to come back here isn't it? Still you’re here now and it would look rude if you left now, you think. Not to mention that Evie would probably think you’re up yourself if she doesn't already. But deciding to stay doesn't stop you from crying as you curl up underneath Mycroft’s coat that night, whilst you wish that you had never come back to this awful place. 

 

*

 

You end up going for a walk on Christmas Eve just to get away from all the noise inside the house. But everything’s noisy outside too, for despite there being no tourists the locals seem to have found their spirit and you can’t help but feel sorry for yourself because everyone’s happy and you want to feel that way too. 

 

So in the end you end up swerving into a pub-The Bear and Crown-which looks warm and inviting as light spills from its open door and like a good place to drown your sorrows. 

 

You’re not usually one to get drunk, but after being back in this place for three days and having all its gloom and unpleasant memories crawling back inside you like a drug, you would like nothing more than to forget where you are for a few hours. Even if that does possibly mean spending Christmas morning with a headache the size of Spain. 

 

So you end up sitting on a black stool by the bar, whilst, ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You,’ blares in your ears and makes you think of Mycroft. And thinking of Mycroft just hurts because what with all the gloom that’s in your mind all you can think of is not of the hope you’d felt when you’d left him and not how sweet he’d been to you by giving you his coat and everything, but rather all the negative uncertain feelings that had begun to be stirred within you after all his unresponsive behaviour, not to mention his _‘lovely,’_ comment. So because you’re depressed enough as it is right now without thinking about how Mycroft surely doesn't want you, you try to get all thoughts of him out of your head, whilst you drum your fingers impatiently against the bar as you wait for your first cocktail to arrive. Yet, despite your efforts, you can’t help but think that Mycroft would surely disapprove of where you are right now. But, you think, before you down your cocktail in one as it arrives and then proceed to cough a little, he had said to have a good Christmas. 

 

Then you notice him. Not Mycroft of course. But another man you once knew. He’s standing by the jukebox and looking at you. And as soon as he sees that you've noticed him he beckons you over with a finger and you hesitate only a moment, with Mycroft’s disapproving face burning in your mind, before you slip off your stool and go across to him. 

 

Then, “Rufus,” you say with a bit of a nod as you join him. 

 

So he grins at you and pushes his short brown hair back from his forehead as he does so. Then, “I thought it was you,” he says, before, “Didn't know if you’d be coming back for Christmas,” he adds a little heavily as if such a thought had worried him a little. 

 

So, “Well,” you begin as you force a smile at him now, “I couldn't miss all the gloom could I?” you continue jokingly.

 

And he barks out a laugh, before, “Can I get you another?” he asks, eager to please you as always. 

 

You've known him since school. He was in the year below you and you were in the same class as his brother, but he’s always had a bit of a crush on you. Still, you can use that to your advantage now, you think as you nod and he goes off to get you another drink. For you need to get wasted and it’s all the better if you don’t even have to spend all of your own money on doing so. 

 

So you drink and end up making small talk with him, before you end up moving onto a club together. It’s a right dive of a place with cheap strobe lights and cheesy music, but as you carry on knocking back the drinks in between dancing you barely notice its unattractiveness. 

 

You don’t know how it happens. All you know is that one moment you’re dancing close together and the next he’s trying to kiss you. But this time, unlike you normally would, you don’t try to push him away, not even when Mycroft’s face burns before your eyes once more. Instead you kiss him back sloppily, whilst his hands go up to paw at your breasts.

 

Then you pull away slightly and as you do you can see the sweat glistening on his forehead and the dampness of his fringe, before his eyes flick open to look at you.

 

And, “Not here,” you breathe, your head spinning, so the pair of you stumble outside, before you dart into the rubbish-strewn alleyway that’s by the side of the club. 

 

Then he’s on you at once, pushing you against the wall and kissing your neck, before his lips find yours once more. 

 

And you groan into his mouth, which just makes him want you even more. So he undoes his belt and tugs both his and yours trousers and underwear down until they drop to both of your ankles, before he grinds against you and enters you. 

 

Then his hands go underneath your top and he pushes your bra up so that his hands have proper access to your chest as he moves and grunts. But before either of you can climax he stops with a weird look upon his face and you’re just about to ask him if he’s all right when he turns his head to the side and promptly vomits all over the alleyway. And you groan now, for you’re not much better yourself but you’re still alert enough to be turned off by such an action. So he gives you a sheepish sort of smile as he wipes the sick off his mouth with the back of his hand. Then you go back to Evie’s and try again on the settee, where this time, with your head dizzy from the alcohol more than the sex, you both come with a gasp, before he collapses on top of you. 

 

When you wake the next morning to the sound of a curtain being drawn back your tongue feels like it’s stuck to the roof of your mouth, your throat feels dry, and your head’s pounding. So you blink blearily for a moment, before you take in the sight of a still naked Rufus on top of you. Then you groan as the memory of last night comes back to you in a haze, before seeing that you’re awake Evie totters around to look at you with raised eyebrows. Then, “It’s a happy Christmas?” she asks with a wicked grin on her face as she raises the glass of champagne in her hand. And you groan again, before in too much pain to even be embarrassed, your head drops down to rest against the arm of the settee. 

 

Every sound that follows is like a gun going off in your head. Every time Evie makes a noise when she cracks eggs for the fry up or puts something down on the counter or tugs the drawer open and her fingernails clatter against the cutlery you feel like your brain is going to explode in your head. 

 

But then it gets even worse for the boys come rushing downstairs yelling, “Santa! Santa!” at the top of their voices as they do so. And in a panic now, but barely able to move, you push your hands up against Rufus’s chest and growl, “Rufus!” in an urgent kind of croak.

 

Then seeing what’s about to happen Evie yells, “Get back upstairs!” and you groan out in agony at her shrill voice, whilst the boys falter on the stairs, their faces looking confused, before they come down anyway. 

 

And Rufus chooses that precise moment to lift his head up blearily and when the boys see his hair sticking up over the top of the settee Sammy points and asks, “Who’s on the settee Mummy?”

 

So, “I thought F/N was,” Bobby pipes up, whilst you hold your breath and Rufus half-leans over you, seemingly finding the whole thing very funny if the grin on his face is anything to go by. 

 

And Evie steps forwards now with a spatula in her hand. Then, “Oh it’s just Santa doing some last minute work on your presents,” she says, before she points the spatula at them threateningly as she goes on, “But unless you both go back upstairs and wait until I call you he won’t be able to finish and you won’t get all of your presents,” and that’s enough for the boys to make hurried protesting noises, before they turn around in a panic and rush back upstairs. 

 

Then, “I won’t look, but both of you better get dressed in five minutes or you’ll have to leave,” Evie tells Rufus and you with a flush on her face so you push Rufus off you. 

 

But breakfast is another awkward affair, and you’re only halfway through your fry up when Sammy turns to you with wide eyes and asks, “Are you going out with Santa?”

 

And you don’t know what to say to that so you just put a hand to your head and sip some of your water. 

 

But, “Nah,” Rufus answers Sammy. Then with his mouth full he says, “She’s going out with me,” and your head just feels even worse. 

 

Thankfully though Rufus leaves just after breakfast. Yet when you return to the settee, clambering over the wrapping paper that’s littered all over the floor as the boys run around with their new toy planes, your eyes catch sight of Mycroft’s coat, stowed safely next to your bag in the original bag that he gave it to you in and you stop dead, before you groan again. 

 

Then, feeling claustrophobic and like you need to get out of there, you tug it out and pull it on you, before you step outside. 

 

And as you walk down the street and the cold breeze helps to clear your head a little you start to feel worse mentally than physically. For what a Christmas this is. You’re hung over, in a place you hate and you've just had sex with a man you don’t even fancy, let alone love, and now that same man thinks that you’re going out with him. And you can’t help but wonder now, when the only man that you've ever wanted to go out with since starting university is Mycroft how on earth this could have happened. For getting drunk was supposed to make things better and make you forget all the memories of this place for a while, not make things worse. And you groan now and run a frustrated hand through your hair as the wind whips it back, before you shove your hands into the coat pockets as you stop along the prom and look out into the grey, choppy waters of the sea. 

 

Then, as you stare out moodily, you become conscious of your hand curling around something that was already in one of the pockets so you tug it out. It’s a piece of folded up paper and with your curiosity peaked you unfold it quickly. Then you see that there’s a mobile phone number at the top and the words:  
_F/N,_  
Here’s my number just in case you ever want to talk to someone when you’re back home.  
Merry Christmas, Mycroft. 

 

And suddenly as you read it you recall everything that Mycroft had done to try and help you over the past term, how he’d made you feel better by talking to you, by letting you wear his coat and by squeezing your shoulders encouragingly. How he’d offered to tutor you when he really didn't have to. And how, even when he’d made you feel bad, he’d still done so many things to try and make up for it, like giving you the coat you’re wearing at the moment for example and now his phone number. And as you remember all these things you also remember the feeling of hope that you’d felt when you’d left him. The feeling of hope that had faded through coming back here, and tears begin to roll down your face now because you suddenly realize just how much you've messed everything up. Suddenly realize that you don’t deserve him because what sort of person throws away such hope just because they felt bad in one moment of time? What kind of person lets their past spoil the hopes they had for their future? And suddenly, you just can’t bear to keep his phone number because you know that every time you look at it you’ll just be reminded of how much you really don’t deserve him. So you let the paper be carried away by the wind. Then you watch it as it gets whipped out across the sea for a moment, before you turn away from it and walk away. 

 

*

 

Rufus comes around late afternoon and you sit outside on Evie’s garden wall with him, whilst the darkness descends around you. And before he came you felt certain of what you needed to do, which was to tell him that last night was a mistake and that you don’t want to go out with him. But as he looks at you adoringly as if you’re the most amazing person on the planet even though you feel a mess and your hair is all greasy you start to doubt yourself again and think that maybe you shouldn't. And you look away from him for a moment so that you might be able to get your thoughts more in order. Then you can’t help but think that even with the acknowledgement of the hope that had come back to you earlier on, and even with all of Mycroft’s kindnesses towards you, that doesn't mean that you’re destined to ever be more than friends. So maybe you should use the chance to be with someone else. And maybe, in fact, it’s even better this way, not to mention so much easier, for you won’t have all the drama of not knowing how Rufus feels like you do with Mycroft…and as you look back at Rufus again as he talks about something or the other suddenly you can see your future. You’re married to Rufus and living in a nice but ordinary suburban home with two children and decent enough jobs. And it might not be the future you want for yourself but perhaps, one day, even though it doesn't feel enough for you now it will turn out to be enough for you after all. So, not feeling confident enough to take decisive action right now, you don’t break up with Rufus. 

 

Then when you’re standing on Evie’s doorstep the day after New Year’s and apologizing to her again for what happened on Christmas Day, you can tell by the tone of her voice that things have changed between you and that you won’t be welcome there again. And you can’t blame her really, you think. You’d acted like an idiot and she’d been good enough to go along with it at first, before the boys had come down. But she’s got to protect her boys, they come first and she can’t take the risk of something like that happening again, you know. So you say, what you think, might be your final goodbye to her, before you walk, clad in Mycroft’s coat once more, back to the station, ready with your ticket out of there. 

 

*

 

The first thing Molly catches sight of when she returns to the house after the holidays is Mycroft looking right towards her as he stands a bit back from the door. Then she sees Sherlock and Greg who are sat by the dining room table animatedly arguing over something or the other, and it’s probably something to do with football, Molly thinks, because Greg looks really wound up and exasperated like Sherlock’s just not getting the point that he’s trying to get across to him. 

 

So, “Hiya, did you all have a nice Christmas?” she asks, but before they can offer any more than murmurs of consent her eyes go back to Mycroft who’s fidgeting with his sleeve and looking rather anxious. Then when she takes in what he’s wearing more she blurts out, “Gosh Mycroft you’re looking very smart.” 

 

And Mycroft gives her a little nod now as he looks distracted. 

 

But Greg says with some satisfaction in his tone, “He’s actually going to do it,” so Molly looks at him now, wondering what he’s getting at. Yet before she can ask Greg reveals, “He’s going to ask F/N out.”

 

So Molly squeals and claps her hands over her mouth, before she lowers them as she breathes, “Oh my God.” Then she rushes over to hug Mycroft who stiffens at her touch and looks rather embarrassed by her reaction, before she asks, “What’s made you want to do it now?” as she lets go of him and steps back from him a little. 

 

And Mycroft raises a hand and wipes it across his jaw line, before he says, “Oh, well, I”-

 

So, “He spent the whole holidays missing her and staring at his phone,” Sherlock interrupts, before he muses, “I think Father thought he had the flu.” Then he adds rather triumphantly, “Mummy _knew_ though, didn't she _Mikey_?” as he sends Mycroft a rather significant look. 

 

And Mycroft flushes with embarrassment at Sherlock using Mummy’s name for him, before he can’t help but remember how _yes_ , as soon as she had spent a short while with him once they’d got back home, Mummy had seemed to cotton on to the fact that something was troubling him. Though she, even with all her perceptiveness, hadn't known that on the way home he’d spent most of his time thinking about what he’d felt when he’d helped put the necklace on you and when you’d hugged him, not to mention what he’d felt during all the other moments that you’d shared together over the past term and wondering what he should do about such feelings. And more to the point wondering _if_ he should do anything in the first place. Yet though he still hadn't been sure of such an answer by the time Sherlock and he had arrived home one thing had become abundantly clear to him by that point, and that was that such feelings were getting harder and harder for him to ignore, which was something that had just troubled him further. Though she _had_ known what the cause of such trouble had been. Something that had become abundantly clear to him as dinner progressed. For whilst he’d tried to spend dinner musing about such matters she’d sent him several fond, knowing looks that had made him duck his head and clear his throat each time, before she’d confronted him about the whole thing as they’d sat opposite each other in the living room after dinner when she’d asked him with a gentle kind of bluntness, “What’s her name?” 

 

And Mycroft had frozen in the act of his reading, before he’d swallowed. Then he’d looked up at her and said, _“F/N,”_ softly in a rather embarrassed fashion. For he’d known that there was no point in trying to deny such a thing. Not when Mummy would only prise it out of him two seconds later in a way that only she knew how. 

 

And Mummy had just mouthed the name to herself thoughtfully for a moment, before she’d looked back at him and asked, “And does she like you as much as you clearly like her?” and he’d been able to sense the protective edge to her tone and the part of her that wanted to make sure he wouldn't get hurt because of this new development.

 

But still he hadn't been able to quell her fears straight away, for what a question that had been! Not to mention one that he didn't know the answer to. So in the end he’d just shrugged a little and said, “I don’t know,” with a blush on his face, before he’d quickly averted his eyes.

 

And Mummy, sensing that the topic was a sensitive one and one that he needed more time to think about in private, had just nodded, before she’d got up and made to leave the room. But then, on her way past him, she’d touched his shoulder lightly and said, “Well, if anything should happen between you and her just make sure that she treats you as well as I know you’d treat her,” without looking at him. And Mycroft had just nodded, before he’d pretended to go back to his reading as she’d left the room. But really his mind had been full of thought. 

 

Back in the present though Molly looks in between Sherlock and Mycroft for a moment now, whilst she tries to figure things out. Then she says, _“But…”_ before as Mycroft begins to look a little sheepish she asks with rising excitement in her voice, “Does F/N have your number Mycroft? Did you give it to her?”

 

So Mycroft swallows, before, “I gave her my coat for Christmas and I slipped my number into one of the pockets,” he confesses. Yet, “She never rang,” he adds somewhat mournfully. 

 

But Molly just chooses to focus on the first sentence, and as she shares an excited look with Greg at this development Greg asks, “He’s a sly fox isn't he?” with a nod to Mycroft who once more looks embarrassed about the whole thing. 

 

So, anxious to know more, Molly looks back at Mycroft and asks, “Where are you going to take her?”

 

And, “To a little French Bistro I found when I was doing some research on-line,” Mycroft tells her, before he draws himself up a little. 

 

So, “Ooh, are you going to impress her with your French at the same time Mycroft?” Molly teases and Mycroft’s blush just grows some more, for _yes_ he had been hoping to perhaps give you a little language lesson at some point. 

 

But thankfully, or not so thankfully, he’s spared having to answer her because of Sherlock who informs Molly, “He did a recce of the place last night.” 

 

So Mycroft frowns at him. Then, “If by recce you mean I went to look through the window, before I perused the menu to make sure that the place was suitable, then yes I did a recce,” he says, before he pauses and fidgets a little again. Then, “Though of course none of that will have been necessary if she turns me down,” he says, for even with all the thinking he’d done over the holidays and all the conclusions he’d drawn he’s still not a hundred per-cent certain that you feel the way he hopes you do. 

 

Yet Molly shares an exasperated look with Greg now, before she looks back at Mycroft and tells him, “Mycroft she’s head over heels for you, she’s not going to turn you down.” And then when she sees that Mycroft immediately looks more reassured by her words she says, “We better get out of your way then,” before she adds, “Her train should have just come in so she’ll be on her way.” Then she sends Mycroft a smile, before she turns to go towards the living room. 

 

And Greg gets up and comes across to clap Mycroft on the arm, before he says with a wink, “Make sure to tell her she looks more than lovely this time all right?” and Mycroft swallows and nods. 

 

Then it’s Sherlock’s turn but rather than saying any words of good luck he just gives his brother a rather piercing gaze and a nod, before he slopes out after them. 

 

*

 

It’s a thrill for you to leave the station, and even though you’re dating Rufus now and even though you had so many doubts fill you over the holidays you can’t help but look forward to see Mycroft again in spite of those things, along with all the others of course, so your pace quickens. 

 

Then when you see the house on the corner you just stop for a moment to take in the fact that you’re actually back and that it’s actually in front of you, before you take a little breath and make to go down the steps to get inside it. 

 

And as soon as you do you take off Mycroft’s coat and your scarf and hang them up, before you go towards the dining room. 

 

Then the first thing you notice is Mycroft and how amazing he looks. He’s wearing a navy suit and tie and a blue shirt whose colour matches that of a coral reef you once saw on TV and the sight of him takes your breath away. 

 

And, _“F/N,”_ he gets out in a little breath as soon as he sees you. But then, as his eyes roam over you and take you in, they catch sight of the mark on your neck and as he realizes what it means his breath shudders in his chest. Then, not being able to help but feel anything other than hurt and confused he swallows to try and shut down all his emotions. But such feelings flash momentarily across his face nonetheless, before he says, “Please excuse me, I need to go out.” And then, before you can do more than open and close your mouth in confusion, whilst no words come out, he strides across, brushes past you and leaves the room. 

 

So, _“Mycroft?”_ you ask questioningly as you do a little spin so that you can stare after him. But he doesn't look back, he just keeps on walking and then a moment later the door slams behind him. 

 

And you move forwards now, not sure what the hell’s going on, for seeing him again had made you realize just how much you’d missed him but now he’s barely acknowledged you. 

 

Yet before you can decide whether to go out after him or not Molly, Greg and Sherlock come slowly out of the living room with looks of confusion on their faces. 

 

And Sherlock only takes one look at you, before he goes out after Mycroft. 

 

Then you gesture to the door, whilst you say, “Hi, I-what’s going on? It looked like Mycroft was going on a hot date or something,” and when Molly and Greg only exchange a despairing glance the faltering kind of smile that had been on your face when you’d spoken your last words goes out completely, before you ask them desperately, “He’s not is he?” for you can’t help but suddenly realize what an idiot you've been in not breaking up with Rufus as you can both feel from the ache in your chest and understand _because_ of the ache in your chest how much you really want to go out with Mycroft and how much everything about him means to you. And it hurts. Everything about the whole situation hurts so badly because more than ever, just as you've come to realize that you love him, its become even more apparent from his hostile treatment of you just now that he’s unlikely to feel the same. 

 

Yet Molly just bites her lip for a moment. Then she shakes her head and says, “No,” and you swallow and blink back a few tears because even though that fact makes things a bit better things still don’t make sense to you. But then she puts a placating hand on your arm and says, “Let’s go to your room, we can talk there,” so you take one last look at Greg, before you let Molly usher you upstairs. 

 

Then once you’re in your room you dump your rucksack on the bed and turn to Molly because you want to try and make sense of what the hell’s going on. 

 

But her eyes go to your neck and then they flick up to yours, before she gestures at it and says, “I thought Mycroft and you”-

 

So, “There _is_ no Mycroft and me,” you interrupt her as you stiffen now, and you can’t help but feel angry that she’s brought your new relationship with Rufus up when that’s got nothing to do with anything and that she’s made you feel like the bad guy here when Mycroft’s the one who gave you the cold reception, not the other way around. And you turn your back to her, before you tug your rucksack towards you viciously and begin to pull your things out of it. But when Molly’s still there a moment later and showing no signs of leaving you turn back to her, a top in your hand, as you try and explain with frustration in your tone, “I told you at the party, he’s had enough opportunities, so he clearly doesn't feel the same way, as he proved once more today, and anyway I've spent far too much time mooning after him as it is,” before you throw the top down angrily on your bed. Then you go to sit down on it with a thump and run both of your hands through your hair. 

 

So, “I thought you just said that because you were angry at the time,” Molly begins cautiously. 

 

“ _Yeah?_ Well I meant it,” you reply moodily as you wave your hands in the air. 

 

And Molly stares at you, not knowing what to say for the best. For she’d dearly love to tell you that Mycroft _does_ feel the same way and that actually he was just about to ask you to go out with him, but you seem so emotional at the moment that she’s not altogether sure if you would believe her even if she _did_ say such things. And she doesn't want you to get angry with her, so in the end she settles on asking, “Who’s the man you’re seeing then?” as she swings her arms back and forth a little. 

 

So, “He’s just some stupid guy I used to know at school”- you begin, but then you have to break off because your voice becomes too choked to continue. 

 

And, “Oh F/N,” Molly exclaims now, before she hurries to sit on the bed beside you as you begin to cry. 

 

Then, “I don’t even want to go out with him,” you try to explain as you wipe at your eyes in frustration, “It just sort of happened…but he likes me, he really does y’know? And anyway I really don’t know what’s going on with Mycroft and me. Sometimes I think he might like me in that way and other times I don’t. Although after how he acted just now I guess it’s pretty clear that he doesn't feel like that isn't it? And if that’s the case then there’s really no need for me to be putting my life on hold for him any more is there?” you ask. But still Molly thinks you know, deep down, that you've made a big mistake by doing what you had over the Christmas holidays. Especially when you give a feeble shrug of your shoulders. So she just takes you in her arms and strokes your hair soothingly. 

 

*

 

Mycroft is smoking on the pavement just outside the house when Sherlock steps beside him. 

 

And Sherlock lights a cigarette of his own, before he says, “It might just have been a Christmas fling.”

 

So Mycroft makes a disbelieving noise in this throat. Then, “She never struck me as the type for being one for meaningless one-night stands,” he says as he looks out across the street instead of at his brother. “But then what do I know?” he muses a moment later. Then, “I was under the impression that perhaps something could develop between us. Clearly I was mistaken,” he finishes bitterly. 

 

And Sherlock thinks for a moment, before he turns his head to look at him and says, “It could be that she was missing you too, except _unlike_ you, she actually had someone to turn to.”

 

And Mycroft doesn't say anything more. He just finishes off his cigarette, crushes it beneath his heel and then strides off down the street. 

 

But as he does so a memory comes back to him, before he can stop it. A memory of how, during the holidays, a day after the talk with Mummy, he’d sat on his bed with his knees drawn up to his chest and toyed absent-mindedly with his phone as he’d thought about everything with only the sound of Mummy as she pottered about in the kitchen, the smell of food, which had wafted across to him and the occasional bang that had come from Sherlock’s room interrupting him. And during this time he’d recalled how much he’d missed you already and how familiar you’d quickly become to his daily routine, and such thoughts had just made him want to see you. So he’d pictured your face in his mind, not to mention the way the soapy water had slid down your back. And then he’d begun to fantasize even further and such fantasies had made him wonder if he should act and ask you out after all. Then the arguments for doing so had followed like soldiers trooping out of a castle. The arguments about him being a good student and more than capable of keeping up with his studies. Not to mention the fact that plenty of lesser-minded people seem to have juggled studying and romance. So what exactly would be the harm in him trying to do such a thing? Especially if it meant that he could finally find out what your lips would feel like against his. But then the counter-arguments had come too. The possibility of you saying no. Not to mention all the nerves he’d felt just from the very thought of doing such a thing. And as they’d done so he’d fiddled with the covering of his phone a little and his nails had caught and shifted against it. But in the end he’d gone back and for on the matter for the rest of the holidays until he’d finally decided to just go for it after all because at least that way he’d know one way or another exactly how you feel. And with the decision made he’d felt both apprehensive and exhilarated all at once. 

 

Yet as he comes out of the memory now he just feels angry with himself and you, not to mention angry about Sherlock’s words. For even before he’d decided to ask you out he’d given you his number and therefore given you a way of contacting him so what Sherlock had suggested about you missing him must be a load of nonsense. For if you’d missed him then you should have just rung and bloody told him so! And he thinks now of all the evidence he’d compiled in his mind over the holidays. All the evidence for you being interested in him, which had helped push him towards taking a chance on you. Evidence like the way you’d looked at him sometimes in such a deep, thoughtful way and the way your eyes had seemed to fix on him and only him completely as you’d done so. The way you’d kissed him on the cheek and then looked both shy and pleased afterwards. The way your eyes had darted to his lips when you’d been sitting so close together that Bonfire night. The expression on your face when he’d let you wear his coat. Not to mention the energy that had thrummed from your body when he’d helped you put that necklace on. And at the party you’d certainly acted disappointed when he’d only been able to call you ‘lovely.’ So why would you have done such a thing if you weren't interested in him? But thinking of such things when he can quite clearly see now how wrong he’s got everything just makes him madder. For you’d made him think that you might actually feel that way and you’d got him to the point where he even wanted to ask you out. Yet now he can’t help but feel like you've just been toying with him and making an even bigger fool out of him this whole time, before putting the final nail in the coffin by rejecting him so obviously. And his anger spikes up within him now as he stops walking to nowhere, clenches his fists and huffs out a breath. Then as he raises a hand to tug his fingers through his hair in frustration a shuddering breath escapes him. For it’s only now that he realizes just how much he wanted to go out with you. Only now that he realizes that he’s somehow fallen in love with you and that’s why everything’s been so confusing all this time. And it _hurts_. Everything about the situation hurts because now he knows for sure that you don’t feel the same…

 

* 

 

Meanwhile Sherlock finishes his own cigarette and goes back inside the house. When he does it’s to find Greg waiting for him in the living room and Greg stands up with a tentative, hopeful look in his eyes as soon as Sherlock enters. 

 

Then, “He’s hurt,” Sherlock tells him, before he says, “I think he was finally beginning to believe that she might feel the same way, and then, for this to have happened,” and he pauses now, before he continues, “Well, its totally thrown him.” Then he sighs a bit now, before, “To the point where I think he almost feels like she’s betrayed him,” he finishes. 

 

And Greg huffs out a breath and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. Then he breathes, “Well, Molly’s talking to her now, so perhaps that will help things,” and Sherlock nods, before the pair of them settle down on the settee to wait. 

 

But they don’t have to wait long, for Molly comes downstairs a moment later.

 

Then she sinks into the armchair opposite them, before, “She’s a mess,” she breathes as she waves her hand.

 

So Greg sighs heavily, before he asks, “Why did she do it?” 

 

And Molly sighs, before she says, “I think it was just something that happened”-

 

So, “That’s basically what I suggested might be the case to my brother,” Sherlock interrupts her, but Molly raises a weary hand for she’s not in the mood to deal with Sherlock showing off how perceptive he is right now.

 

Then Greg asks, “Is she going to break up with this guy?”

 

So Molly shakes her head, before as a _‘Why?’_ forms on Greg’s lips she goes on, “No, I think she knows that she’s made a mistake but I think she’s convinced herself that eventually she’ll feel better about herself by going out with someone who she knows likes her in that way when instead she’s just making herself feel worse.”

 

“So why doesn't she just break up with him then?” Greg asks her in frustration now, not understanding. 

 

So Molly sighs a bit now, before, “Because she’s too scared to,” she says. Then she adds, “And she’s uncertain about how Mycroft feels so I think she believes that if she breaks up with this guy and Mycroft ends up never being anything more than a friend to her then she’ll have pushed someone who she thinks she could learn to love away for no good reason.” 

 

And Sherlock pulls a bit of a face, before he asks, “So basically she’s being really stupidly dramatic about the whole thing?” 

 

Yet, “It’s not stupid to her,” Molly says softly with a serious look upon her face. 

 

And Greg turns to look at Sherlock now, before he begins, “If Mycroft were to still ask her out then she’d realize how silly she’s being, break up with this guy and then everything would be all right”- 

 

But, “He’ll never ask her out now,” Sherlock says dismissively, for he knows his brother too well, but Molly and Greg don’t so he adds, “It took him long enough to work himself up to get to that point in the first place. There’s no way he’ll risk his heart so easily again,” and Greg, knowing that what Sherlock’s said makes sense, huffs again, before he sinks back into the settee. 

 

And they all spend the next hour partly in silence and partly talking about how they might be able to fix things, but there’s no stand out idea or easy fix solution. 

 

So, “We’re back at the bloody start aren't we?” Greg huffs as he runs a hand through his hair. 

 

But neither Sherlock nor Molly get the chance to respond for a moment later they hear the door slam so they all look at each other. 

 

Then, “I’ll go and talk to him,” Molly says as she jumps up, and Greg and Sherlock exchange a look, both wondering if she’ll be able to get through to Mycroft, before they watch as she leaves the room. 

 

Yet Mycroft’s in the kitchen now, waiting for the kettle to boil with his shoulders slightly slumped, though his pride makes him draw himself up more when she enters. 

 

So she goes across and leans against one of the counters off to the side of him. Then for a moment she doesn't say anything, before she turns her head and begins, “I’ve been talking to F/N”-

 

But Mycroft grimaces now as his cold eyes find hers, before he interrupts her stiffly, “If you've come because you somehow think that I wish to hear about F/N’s sexual exploits then you are sadly mistaken.”

 

Yet Molly knows that beneath his bravado his heart is breaking so, “Please just ask her out Mycroft,” she pleads. 

 

But he observes her only for a moment, before, “No,” he says firmly. Then, “She’s had her chance,” he tells her. 

 

So, “She loves you, she just”- Molly begins. 

 

But, “Clearly not enough that such love stops her from going off with other men,” Mycroft interrupts her curtly as the kettle finally boils. And then he finishes making his tea, before he moves past where Molly’s now slumped dejectedly against the counter and goes to take refuge in his room. 

 

*

 

You don’t see much of Mycroft over the next few days. In fact he seems to be avoiding you and you can’t understand why or what you've done to suddenly deserve such a thing. You’re never alone together and when he sees the possibility of such a thing happening he always leaves the room, before it does. Meal times are particularly awkward too. For whenever you sit next to him he shifts across a little so that there’s no chance of his arm brushing against yours as if you might be contaminated. And if you ask him to pass you something he does it with stiffness and a sort of cool politeness that leaves you feeling lost. So all in all you’re looking forward to your tutoring session that Thursday with him just so that you might be able to figure out why things are the way they are between you. 

 

Then when the time comes you gather your papers and the textbook that you’ll need for that night together and take them down to the dining table. Mycroft’s not there yet, but you’re a bit early so you sit down and wait, rolling a pen in between your fingers as you do so. But quarter-of-an-hour after you were due to start Mycroft still hasn't arrived and so you place your pen back down on the table and get up slowly, before you make your way cautiously across towards his shut bedroom door. 

 

Then, after a little moment of hesitation, you knock upon the door, before you call out, “Mycroft?”

 

And no words are called back to you, though there is a sound of the slightest movement coming from inside, so after a moment’s indecision you twist the doorknob and open the door. 

 

Then you come to see that Mycroft’s sitting by his desk with his back turned to you, and though you can tell that he knows you’re there, for his shoulders stiffen, he doesn't look at you. 

 

So you swallow, before, “I-I thought we were supposed to be having a tutoring session tonight?” you ask him, whilst your heart jumps anxiously in your chest. 

 

And his head lifts up a fraction now, but his eyes still remain on his textbook as he says coolly, “I didn't think you needed them any more.”

 

And you feel a little surprised, for he’d seemed so keen to continue before Christmas. So you try, “But I thought, what with my exams coming up and everything that it would be good for us to continue.”

 

And he gives no sign that he’s heard you at first, for his fingers simply flick to the next page of his textbook. But then, “That may be the case,” he tells you, “But you might care to remember that I've got exams of my own to prepare for. So, that being said, I'm afraid that I won’t have time to help you any more,” he finishes, and his words feel like a physical blow to you and for a moment, quite unable to believe how cold he’s being with you, you just stand there frozen as you look at him. Then, “If that’s all then could you please shut the door behind you on your way out? I'm trying to study,” he informs you. 

 

And your heart swoops down in your chest, before, “I-I _yeah_ ,” you get out. Then you stagger backwards and close the door. 

 

And after you do so Mycroft lets out a little breath, before he pushes his textbook away from him and then leans back in his chair. For he’s spent most of the night thinking about how, if things had gone differently, it would have been your first tutoring session together as a couple and how your legs should have been tangling together underneath the table. How you should have been shifting closer to brush against him. And how he should have been rewarding your progress not with words this time but with a kiss…

 

Meanwhile, feeling hurt and embarrassed, not to mention so confused, you take your things back to your room, dump them onto your desk in a heap and then curl up on your bed and cry. 

 

*

 

Mycroft keeps up this cold attitude with you for the next week and since all your lectures and seminars have finished until after the January exams you find that your mind becomes even more occupied by the whole thing. And _especially_ when you’re trying to revise you just find that your mind chooses to analyse every detail of his cold attitude towards you rather than focusing on what it should. 

 

Then one day after lunch Mycroft’s washing up and the others are still by the table so you eye his back determinedly, before you get up with the idea of making yourself another cup of tea that you can take upstairs to your room with you. 

 

But as soon as you move around him and go to stand beside him to switch the kettle on his shoulders stiffen and he finishes the rest of the washing up hurriedly, barely taking any care, before he goes to dry his hands on the dishcloth. 

 

And you can’t take any more, so, before he can leave you ask in a raised voice, “Why are you being so mean to me?” and his eyes flick to yours now in spite of himself, whilst you can hear the other’s voices falter, but nonetheless you continue desperately, “Ever since I came back after Christmas all you've done is be horrible to me and I don’t even know why.”

 

So, “ _Don’t_ you?” he asks you as he draws himself up to his full height and gazes at you coolly. 

 

And, “No,” you get out, hoping he’ll use the opportunity to explain.

 

But, “Then maybe you’re not as smart as I thought you were,” he says, because suddenly all he wants is to hurt you as much as you've hurt him. And then as your breath catches in your chest he goes on to remark cuttingly, “Perhaps your Personal Tutor was right,” and your mouth opens in disbelief, before, “Perhaps you _should_ graduate a year late,” he finishes with a flourish. 

 

And you stare at him now, unable to believe how callous and cruel he’s being, before, as you feel tears that you know that you won’t be able to stop rising within you, you abandon the prospect of more tea altogether and push past him as hard as you can as a sob escapes your lips. Then you hurry upstairs.

 

Mycroft’s breath had hitched in his chest when he’d heard the sound of you crying as you went past him and now his shoulders sag a little as he closes his eyes and leans heavily back against the counter. Yet he opens them a moment later when he hears the sound of someone clapping and once his eyes fix on the culprit, his brother of course, Sherlock says, “Well done Mycroft, that was a stunning example of why she should never go out with you.”

 

And, “Yeah, thanks for showing us that Mycroft,” Greg adds darkly. 

 

But Molly however stands up and looks at Mycroft furiously, before she demands, “Go and talk to her. Apologize,” and Greg, who stares at her in amazement at how fierce she’s being, thinks that he wouldn't dare to go against her if he was the one that she was addressing. 

 

But Mycroft finds himself in a stubborn mood and one where he feels like he’d be quite happy if he could have nothing to do with you ever again, so he just shakes his head, before the word, “No,” leaves his lips. For he’s determined to protect himself and determined to never let himself get in a situation where he can get so hurt again. 

 

Yet Molly only looks more furious now and she strides across to him, before she stops right in front of him, leans towards him and hisses, “I know she hurt you all right? I know you feel upset about what happened, but you can’t go on behaving like this.” Then when Mycroft’s eyes flash angrily she goes on, “It’s unhealthy for everyone, not just her. So you either sort yourself out and go back to being on amicable terms with her or you consider moving out.”

 

And, “I don’t believe you can just force me to move out Molly Hooper”- Mycroft begins. 

 

Yet, “Maybe I can’t, but if all of us went against you, and right now no one’s going to need much persuading, then you might find that you won’t have much choice in the end,” Molly interrupts him, and from his place at the table Greg feels like cheering. 

 

And perhaps because he senses such a thing or because he simply wants their support Mycroft’s eyes swivel to both Sherlock and Greg now, but he can quite clearly see whose side they are on so his eyes go back to Molly’s. 

 

Then, “What’s it going to be?” she asks him.

 

And Greg really hopes that Mycroft will do the sensible thing now and do what Molly wants, because if he doesn't then with Molly in this sort of mood Greg can really see her hitting Mycroft and he doesn't think that he’d be able to do anything more than watch and cheer if she did so. 

 

But Mycroft thankfully sees that he has little choice and so he huffs out a breath, before he says, “I’ll talk to her.”

 

So, “Good,” Molly says with satisfaction in her tone, but then when Mycroft just makes to go back to his room she asks him sharply, “Where are you going?” and Greg almost laughs at the way Mycroft’s shoulders immediately hunch up, whilst Molly’s words and behaviour bring a vision of Mummy into Sherlock’s mind, and he very nearly shudders. 

 

Then Mycroft turns around to face her once more, before, “To my room,” he says with some confusion etched in his face. 

 

So, “No you’re not,” Molly huffs at him with her hands on her hips, before she explains, “When I told you to go and talk to her Mycroft Holmes I didn't mean when you felt like it so that you could put it off for as long as possible, I meant now.”

 

And Mycroft stares at her steadily, whilst Sherlock raises his eyebrows and Greg looks even more impressed as he makes a whipping gesture with his hand. 

 

Then with a sour expression on his face Mycroft turns and leaves the room to go upstairs instead. But when he knocks and gets no response he tentatively pushes your bedroom door open and finds that you’re not there after all. So you must have snuck back downstairs and left when Molly was busy giving him a tongue-lashing he thinks, whilst he can’t help but feel a little relieved about. For he won’t have to talk to you yet, which means that he’ll have plenty of time to think about things before he does. And he goes back downstairs to report his findings, and as he does he’s already thinking longingly of shutting himself in his room as son as he can.

 

But, “Go and find her,” Molly tells him insistently and he looks at her tiredly so, “Don’t look at me like that,” she tells him, before, “She’ll probably have gone to the library and you’re just as capable of studying there as you are here so go and find her,” she finishes.

 

And he sighs a little now, before he goes to get his bag and the new black coat that Mummy gave him for Christmas and then heads out.

 

And as soon as the door closes behind him Greg lets out a soft whistle, before he breathes, “Bloody hell Molly, I’m never getting on the wrong side of you,” and Molly just lets out a shaky kind of laugh, before a smile toys around her face as her hands reach up to fix her ponytail.

 

*

 

You are in the library. Mycroft spies you almost at once by one of the tables. Your head is bowed and resting on your hand as you read something in a textbook. And he just watches you for a moment, before he cautiously makes his way across. Then when he’s standing on the other side of the table in front of you and you still haven’t spotted him he clears his throat awkwardly. 

 

And you look up at him and your eyes flash with something as they catch sight of him, before they narrow. 

 

So, “Can I sit down?” Mycroft asks, and when you hesitate and then jerk your head forwards he rests his bag down by the side of the table leg, before he draws the chair out and then sits down on it. Then when he looks at you once more you've already gone back to your reading so, “I'm sorry for what I said earlier,” he tells you, and he knows that you've heard him for you bite your lip. 

 

But, “That still doesn't explain your behaviour towards me,” you say a little heatedly as you look up at him once more. 

 

So he swallows and runs a hand through his hair, whilst at the same time he wishes that you weren't being so dense about the whole thing and wishes that you could understand how he feels without him actually having to tell you. But, _perhaps_ he thinks now, it’s better for him in the long run that you are being that way, for if you knew how he felt, whilst not feeling the same way yourself, it might only make things more difficult between you. Not to mention that it would definitely only damage his pride further. So, as you stare at him with blazing eyes as you wait for an answer he opts for keeping up the lie as he says, “I'm sorry, I get nervous around the time of exams. Mummy used to get annoyed at me because of it all the time when I was at school since it can manifest itself in the most unpleasant ways.” 

 

But you just stare at him still, for you don’t believe his words for a moment. And you hate the fact that he’s not being honest with you and that he obviously doesn't trust you enough to be so. But you know that you can’t cope with any more of his hostility towards you either. Not with your exams coming up. So for a moment you just wonder whether you should accept the lie, but in the end you find that you can’t. So you end up saying, “I thought we were friends?”

 

And, “We are, we still can be, can’t we?” Mycroft replies with a slight nervous, uncertain quality to his voice, whilst his heart starts to beat unevenly in his chest. For has he really messed things up that badly between you? Has he really made it so that you can’t even be friends? And he realizes now that far from wanting to have nothing to do with you he wants to still be friends with you if he can. Realizes that he’s come to feel too close to you to ever be able to do the logical thing and turn his back on you completely. 

 

Yet you hesitate only a moment, before you tell him coolly, “You haven’t acted differently around anyone else, just me," and Mycroft's breath catches tight in his chest now at the tone of your voice, before he listens as you go on, "So I'm sorry but your exam stress story doesn't hold up.” 

 

And Mycroft swallows now and for a moment you both just look at each other, your eyes pleading for him to be honest with you and him struggling to think of a more believable cover story because he can’t be honest with you here, he just can’t. Not only because he wants to protect himself but also because you don’t feel the same. 

 

Yet he takes too long to reply so you ask him quietly, “Did something happen over Christmas? O-Or did I do something just before I left that was wrong? Because I thought everything was fine between us and then it wasn't…” and as your voice cracks you break eye contact with him to look down uncertainly at your textbook. 

 

And he wishes suddenly that your hand were on the table so that he could grab it and reassure you. But it isn't, and even if it was he couldn't, he tells himself, because you have a boyfriend that’ s not him and he can’t tell you the truth. So, “It’s really nothing to do with you,” he says in the end. But you look up at him doubtfully so, “You've done nothing wrong and I'm sorry if I've made you feel like you have,” he adds, before he pushes his hand through his hair once more and then goes on, “I guess going home for the holidays, well, it made me think a lot about my future and what I want, and I suppose I started questioning everything and doubting myself…and I suppose that I directed all the negative, uncertain energy that I was feeling towards you once we all got back because you’re the one that I feel closest to in the house,” and though this is still ultimately a lie in the context that it’s in there’s some truth there too. For he _had_ done a lot of thinking over the holidays and he _had_ decided that he wanted to take the chance of asking you out even though he hadn't previously been interested in having romantic entanglements. 

 

And, _“Oh,”_ is your first response, before a blush crosses your face. Then you duck your head down for a moment, whilst inside you feel pleased that he’s being more open with you and suitably thrilled about his last revelation. 

 

So, “Quite,” Mycroft says, a small smile playing on his lips in spite of himself at your reaction, before, “May we still be friends then?” he asks you. 

 

And you smile a little yourself now as you look at him, before, “Yes, I think so,” you say as casually as you can. Then your heart does a little flip when his eyes light up as things become better between you once more, before he clears his throat a moment later. 

 

And, “Right,” he says, before, “I’ll leave you to get on with things then,” and he makes to get up now, pushing himself up from the table as he does so. But before he can leave your hand darts across and closes around his so he freezes. Then blood rushes to his face immediately, before his eyes first go down to your linked hands and then across to your face. 

 

So, with your own face hot, you let go of his hand and draw yours back, before you breathe, “Stay,” because he might not feel the same but you’re reluctant to not prolong this nice moment between you if you can, even if it does only end up making you feel hurt. Yet he simply looks at you questioningly so you shrug a bit as you ask, “I mean, you don’t have to help me or anything like that but you could always just study here for a while if you like,” and his eyes fix on you for another moment, whilst a little breath escapes him as he considers the positives and negatives about doing such a thing. For doing so might expose himself to the possibility of being hurt again, especially if you bring up your boyfriend and say how wonderful he is. And he can’t help but feel a breeze of bitterness swirl up inside him as he wonders what your boyfriend looks like and how he acts towards you now. Yet, his mind argues, that’s the way things are now, you have a boyfriend and he’s just made up with you and agreed to be friends with you. And if he wants to stay friends with you, he realizes now, then at some points he’ll naturally have to risk being hurt because that’s the way relationships work. And he _does_ want to stay friends with you he knows. And he also doesn't want to spoil the moment by leaving now if you want him to stay. So in the end, having bullied himself into doing so, he nods and then sits back down. 

 

And you smile and watch as he gets his things out, before you go back to your own studying. 

 

Then for half-an-hour or so you sit in a companionable silence as you both get on with the matter of revising, before you can’t help but look across at him and marvel in how wonderful and natural this feels. And such a thing hurts because he doesn't feel as strongly about you as you do about him, but oddly enough it feels nice too. Nice to know that, if you’ll never have anything more between you, then you can still have this comfortable companionship with him. And you just find yourself staring at him for a moment. Then you smile at the look of soft concentration on his face and admire the way that the low winter sunshine seems to catch upon his hair. And when he feels your gaze upon him a moment later and looks up enquiringly you can’t help but say softly in spite of yourself, “I've missed this.”

 

And he swallows, before not knowing how to respond he looks away from you for a moment. Then, slowly, he looks back at you to find that your eyes are still on him so he murmurs, “As have I,” before his heart flips in his chest at the smile that lights up your face. And he can’t know that its done such a thing because as much as you know that he doesn't love you, you’re pretty sure, in that moment, that he feels the same way you do about being friends with each other and knowing such a thing makes you feel happier than you have done in an age. 

 

But as you feel embarrassed about how such a simple thing has made you feel so light you shift and wriggle about a bit. And as you do so your leg catches against his underneath the table so you blush and he clears his throat, before he moves his leg away because as much as he’d quite like to keep it there if he does he knows that it will only remind him of how you don’t feel the same way. Not to mention that you have a boyfriend now and whether he likes it or not it’s for the best if he’s mindful of the fact if he wants to keep you on side. 

 

Then, “Sorry,” you say a little sheepishly. 

 

And he looks at you for a moment, before, “It’s all right,” he says, and then after one last awkward look at each other where neither of you know quite what to do for the best you both go back to studying. 

 

You leave the library together just after five o’ clock to make your way back home, and as you talk more freely with each other and become more comfortable again in each other’s presence you can’t help but feel happier than you've done since before Christmas. And Mycroft’s just regaling you with a funny story of something that Sherlock did over the holidays when you get home so you laugh as you hang up your coat and his heart flips pleasantly in his chest at the sound of it. Then you enter the living room and stop dead. And Mycroft crashes into the back of you a moment later so you look back at him, but only briefly, before your eyes go back to the reason that you stopped in the first place. 

 

Then, “Rufus,” you breathe, before, “What are you doing here?” you ask. 

 

And Rufus gets up from the armchair now, whilst Greg and Molly look on somewhat anxiously and Mycroft stiffens behind you because suddenly he can’t remember how he made you laugh just now or how nice it had been to spend some time with you again, all he can remember is that mark on your neck and all the dreadful hurt that it had made him feel. 

 

So, “To see you of course,” Rufus says with a boyish kind of smile on his face as he takes you in with bright eyes, and you only get the chance to nod falteringly, before he takes you in his arms and then kisses you on the lips. 

 

And you respond only briefly, before, very much aware of Mycroft behind you, though not aware, of course, of how hard he’s trying to avert his eyes because he knows that if he sees such things then he’ll only feel like his heart’s crumpling again, you pull away.

 

And Rufus notices Mycroft then too, for his eyes go to him and take in the rather tight, forced smile that’s on his face, before he nods and says to you, “Aren't you going to introduce me then?”

 

So, “Oh, yes, right,” you say with a start, before, “Um, so Rufus this is Mycroft, he um, he lives here too, we were just studying together in the library actually, and Mycroft this is, um, Rufus, my um boyfriend,” you get out and Mycroft’s lips go even thinner now because he wishes that the labels that you’d just given them both were the other way around. But for the sake of his friendship with you he tries to keep an even expression on his face as he shakes Rufus’s hand. 

 

And, “Nice to meet you,” Rufus says as Mycroft and he let go of each other. 

 

So, “Likewise,” Mycroft says coolly, before he goes to sit down on the armchair that Rufus had just vacated, leaving both Rufus and you to join Greg and Molly on the settee. 

 

Then, “I’ll go and see how Sherlock’s getting on with dinner,” Molly says as she jumps up now. 

 

And, “I’ll get us some drinks shall I?” Greg says, before he takes off after Molly towards the kitchen with absolutely no intention whatsoever of doing such a thing. 

 

And you just swallow because sitting next to Rufus with Mycroft’s cool eyes assessing you both is your idea of hell. 

 

Then, “Bloody hell,” Greg breathes as he and Molly make it into the dining room, before he announces, “I'm glad we got out of there,” with a relieved expression on his face as Molly stops and turns to look at him. 

 

So, “Yes,” Molly agrees, before she lets out a bit of a giggle in spite of herself. Then when Greg looks at her strangely she says, “Sorry, it’s just, did you see the way Mycroft shook his hand? I thought he was going to crush it,” and she lets out another laugh now and Greg smiles at the sound of it.

 

Then, “Yeah, didn't look best pleased did he?” Greg concurs, before, “Mind you,” he says reasonably, “If that was me and I’d just made up with the girl I fancied more than anyone in the world and then her boyfriend showed up I wouldn't be best pleased either,” and as he finishes now his eyes are on Molly’s so intently that it makes her look away, whilst she tries to think of what to say in return. 

 

But then her eyes catch sight of Sherlock who’s sliding out a microwave meal from its cardboard packaging by one of the counters and so, “Oh no, Sherlock, you can’t give us all that, not tonight, not when we've got a guest,” she begins as she scurries over to him. 

 

Yet Sherlock just throws her a dark look over his shoulder and so Molly looks helplessly at Greg who comes to join them and stands the other side of Sherlock. 

 

Then, “John got a new girlfriend today,” Greg mouths warningly at her. 

 

So, “Oh,” Molly mouths back, before she closes her mouth with a snap when Sherlock’s head jerks upwards. Then he turns it both ways to shoot them a suspicious look, before he begins to stab at the film with a fork. 

 

So Molly just lets out a despairing kind of sigh, before she thinks that she’ll do some rice to try and add something to the Italian microwave meals, whilst Greg just shakes his head and wonders how everything’s going in the living room. 

 

And in the living room Mycroft’s asking, “So are you at university too Rufus?” with a cool politeness, whilst he leans back in the armchair, and you’re cringing on the inside because in that moment Mycroft’s acting like he’s a worried father enquiring after the prospects of his daughter’s boyfriend. But it’s even worse than that scenario would be because rather than being your father Mycroft’s the man who you’d _really_ like to date. And you can’t help but wonder why Mycroft’s suddenly acting so formal when he’d been joking around with you only a few moments earlier. But, you suppose, Rufus is a stranger to him and he doesn't know him as well as he knows you. 

 

Yet, “Nah,” Rufus replies in answer to Mycroft’s question, clearly feeling more relaxed than you do, before, “I'm a plumber,” he explains. And then his hand goes around your waist to try and tug you closer to him so you move to peel his hand off you because the last thing you want is him touching you in front of Mycroft, before you shift a little away from him, all the while trying to keep the smile on your face as Mycroft’s eyes get drawn to you. 

 

Then his eyes go back to Rufus, before he says, “I see,” before, “Do you get a lot of work?” he queries. 

 

So, “In Brighton?” Rufus clarifies, and then when Mycroft nods he goes on, “Oh yeah, it’s not bad, steady like, you know?”

 

And Mycroft’s lip twitches upwards momentarily, before he asks, “And who is it that’s looking after everyone’s boilers, whilst you’re here?” and you frown now because it sounds like Mycroft would rather that Rufus wasn't here and you can’t understand why Rufus being here is such a problem for him. 

 

But, “Oh Gary,” Rufus says, before you can think any more on the matter. Then, “He’s the boss like, I'm just his apprentice,” Rufus explains. 

 

So, “Is it something you've always wanted to do?” Mycroft asks. 

 

And, “Well, I guess so,” Rufus begins a little awkwardly as he runs a hand across his neck, which is growing flushed and something gleams in Mycroft’s eyes, before Rufus continues, “To tell you the truth I've never been much of an academic type”-

 

And, “No? You surprise me,” Mycroft interrupts now, clearly taking pleasure from saying such a thing, and if his ankles weren't so far away then you would have kicked them because why on earth is he acting like such a pompous idiot all of a sudden? 

 

But Rufus nods now and gives a little nervous kind of laugh, before he says, “Yeah, I guess I’ll just leave that sort of thing to F/N,” and his eyes go to you now, before he puts his arms around you and kisses you on the cheek. And as he does so your eyes lock with Mycroft’s and they clearly ask the question, _‘What the hell is going on with you?’_

 

But instead of answering your question either silently or otherwise Mycroft just begins, “Yes, speaking about F/N’s studies,” and Rufus looks at him now, whilst you feel anxious about what Mycroft might be about to say. Then, “As clever as she is”- Mycroft goes on, and your eyes can’t help but narrow slightly, for he’s clearly trying to make up for what he’d said earlier that day, whilst your heart gives a little flip in your chest in spite of yourself-“She does have exams coming up that she needs to study for, so as happy as she is no doubt to see you, it is a rather inconvenient time for you to be popping by,” Mycroft finishes. 

 

And a silence meets his words and for a moment Rufus just looks between the pair of you, completely nonplussed, before he says with a nervous smile, “Yeah, but she was just studying with you wasn't she?” Then, “Everyone needs a break some times don’t they?” he goes on. 

 

So Mycroft’s eyes go to you now as he hands all control of this particular conversation to you, and you feel rather flustered about what to say, not to mention annoyed with him for putting you in this mess. Then you turn to Rufus and state, “He’s right,” and Mycroft’s heart swells now, before he listens as you go on, “I should really do some more studying today Rufus.”

 

But, “Oh, I thought we could do something together?” Rufus protests as he looks at you, and you feel guilty when you see how crestfallen he looks. Then, “I came here especially to see you,” he pleads. 

 

So, “Well, I guess a few hours off couldn't hurt,” you relent, and you deliberately keep your eyes away from Mycroft as you do so for he’s no doubt looking disapproving. 

 

Then Rufus kisses you on the cheek as his puppy like energy returns and you can’t know it but Mycroft’s gaze just turns even more disapproving now. 

 

So, “Where are you staying?” you ask as you try to keep the conversation going with him to procrastinate the time when you’ll actually have to look back at Mycroft. 

 

“In a hotel a few streets away,” Rufus tells you, before he leans in close so that he can whisper into your ear, “I thought I could take you there later,” and you swallow now at his suggestion, before you start a little as Mycroft clears his throat loudly. Then when you look at him it is to see that he’s looking at Rufus out of narrowed eyes. 

 

So you open your mouth, not sure what you’re going to say but knowing that you need to say something to try and halt Mycroft’s peculiar behaviour. But before you can Molly comes back in to tell you all that dinner’s ready. 

 

So Mycroft, Rufus and you all get up as one, before Rufus takes the lead and follows Molly out towards the dining room. Then Mycroft gives you an even look, before he makes to go after him, but your mind is made up now. So, before he can leave you grab at his wrist and cause him to look back at you. 

 

Then with your hand still on his wrist you hiss, “What’s going on?” but Mycroft just raises his eyebrows at you and gives you his most innocent expression as if he has absolutely no idea of what you’re talking about, even though he does and his heart’s beating unevenly because of it. So, “You were acting like you were my father back there or something,” you try and elaborate. 

 

But Mycroft merely gives you an indulgent kind of smile, before he says rather abruptly, “I was merely trying to be a good friend to you,” and then, before you can question him any further he tugs his wrist free from your grasp and makes his way to the dining room. 

 

So you just narrow your eyes at his back, before you go after him. 

 

Then at dinner you feel trapped with Mycroft on one side of you and Rufus on the other, but thankfully you don’t have to make much conversation as Molly takes over and discusses safe topics such as the weather and what Rufus likes doing in his spare time. Yet even though you don’t have to talk much you can’t get comfortable for you can feel Mycroft’s eyes flitting in between Rufus and you almost constantly so it’s a relief when dinner’s over and you get up to make to leave for somewhere with Rufus.

 

But, “Don’t you want to get changed?” Rufus asks you when he sees that you’re just grabbing your handbag rather than making your way upstairs and everyone, including you, stops to look at him. So he shifts his position, before his eyes meet yours as he says, “I just thought, they’re the same clothes you've been wearing all day, that you’d want to wear something nicer tonight,” and although the _‘for me,’_ is not there it’s implied and Mycroft makes a disapproving sound in his throat. For the more he sees and knows about Rufus the more he’s growing to dislike his youthful energy and the way that far from behaving like a gentleman he’s been attempting to touch you as much as he possibly can. And that’s without him mentioning the way he whispered into your ear earlier in what Mycroft was sure was in a suggestive manner, and him suggesting that you should dress up for him now. For if you’re comfortable going out in the clothes you’re in then you should be allowed to do so. And besides it’s not like you _don’t_ look pretty enough anyway Mycroft thinks. For in a f/c top that flatters your figure and tidy jeans you look more than acceptable enough to him. 

 

But meanwhile you’re struggling to work out what to say. Yet before you can Molly says, “Oh, I think F/N looks pretty enough as she is.”

 

So not being able to help himself Mycroft states, “I agree,” firmly and both Molly and Greg look pleased, whilst your eyes go to him as you feel puzzled by him again. But his only flick to you briefly, before they go back to resting hard upon Rufus. 

 

So Rufus, seeing that he’s outnumbered in his opinion, just nods and says, “Fine, come on then,” before he leads the way outside. 

 

And so you say a quick goodbye to the others, before you hurry out after him to find that he’s got his hands in his pockets and that he looks cold as he waits for you. 

 

So, “Where would you like to go?” you ask as you join him. 

 

And, “I dunno, the cinema maybe,” he offers a bit glumly so you nod, before you both begin to walk off down the street together. 

 

And there’s a heavy silence between you for a long time, before Rufus says, “I don’t think that Mycroft bloke, or whatever he’s called, liked me very much,” and you swallow now as he looks at you. 

 

Then, “Oh, don’t worry about him,” you say dismissively as you wave your hand, before you add, “I don’t think he’s very good with new people that’s all.” But despite your casual words you can’t help but wonder about Mycroft’s behaviour yourself again now. For you know that he’d said that he was just trying to be a good friend to you, but Molly’s a good friend to you and _she_ had navigated far safer waters in _her_ conversation with Rufus. But perhaps it’s just a man thing you think, or a _Mycroft_ thing you think wryly. And perhaps in his own way he had just been trying to make up for all the hurt that he’d caused by not speaking to you before and by acting so difficult. _Or_ , perhaps, a little voice in your head can’t help but say, he’d acted like that because seeing Rufus had made him realize that he _does_ like you in that way after all. But no it can’t be that can it? You think dismissively; before you think that you’re not going back there. For you’re better off without such complications in your life. Better off without falling into the trap of second-guessing Mycroft’s every word and action again in the hope that he feels the same, which you daren’t dream that he does because then, not only would it make things more complicated, but you would have messed up even more than you already think you have by dating Rufus. 

 

And thinking of Rufus, he asks only a moment later, “You will come back to the hotel with me won’t you?” and you hesitate a moment, before you nod and then feel relaxed when a grin lights up his face. 

 

Then, “Good,” he says as he holds you closer to him, but as you head to the bus stop together you can’t help but feel like the more happy he gets the more miserable you do, for with every step you take with Rufus the reality that you’d rather be doing such a thing with Mycroft only fills you even more. For you’d rather it was Mycroft with his arm around your waist right now, rather it was Mycroft talking to you and perhaps telling you another funny story about Sherlock as he had been doing earlier, rather it was Mycroft you were going to the cinema with. And such knowledge just makes your heart sink. 

 

*

 

The film you end up watching at the cinema is the final part of a trilogy that Rufus has seen the first two parts to and you haven’t, but ironically it’s you who ends up paying it the most attention. For from the start Rufus is determined to touch you. And at first he just holds your hand in his on the armrest between your seats and though his hand is rougher than Mycroft’s you can just about pretend that it’s him holding your hand and not Rufus and so everything’s fine and nice. But then his hand moves to your leg, which he starts to caress and you begin to feel uncomfortable, before you feel even more so when he kisses you. 

 

And by the end of the film you really don’t want to go back to the hotel with him. In fact doing such a thing is the last thing that you want to do. So once you get out onto the cold, dark street again you raise a hand to your forehead and say, “I know I said I would go back with you but I've got a bit of a headache. Do you think we could just leave it here tonight?” and once again he looks like a kicked puppy so you add quickly, “I’ll make it up to you some other time,” whilst you cringe inwardly at the prospect.

 

And he considers the balance of your words for a moment. Then finally he nods, “All right,” and kisses you goodnight, before you part ways. 

 

Thankfully though you don’t see Rufus again, for the next morning he gets a call from his boss saying that he’s ill so Rufus is needed back at work. 

 

*

That following night Mycroft’s in his room studying when there comes a small knock upon his door. So as his heart jumps hopefully in his chest he spins around in his chair by his desk, before he says, “Come in,” softly. 

 

Yet it’s not you but Molly who slips cautiously into his room a moment later and his feelings must show on his face for Molly says, “Sorry to disappoint.”

 

So, “No you didn't”- Mycroft begins as he tries to rescue the situation, before he stops when Molly waves a hand. And then when his eyes catch sight of the thin book that’s in the hand she waved he asks, “What’s that?” 

 

So Molly looks at it now, before she steps forwards. Then, “If you want to know why F/N’s going out with Rufus then you should read this,” she says as she holds the book out towards him. 

 

And after he takes it gently from her he tilts it so that he can read its cover better. _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_ by _Stephen Chbosky_ is the books title and its author and he takes them both in for a moment, before he looks up at her questioningly. 

 

Then, “I could see the way you were looking at Rufus last night,” Molly begins and Mycroft lets out a little breath, before he listens as Molly goes on, “You were wondering what she sees in him and why she’d ever choose to go out with a man like that. So if you really want to know then the answers are inside that book,” Molly finishes.

 

And then as Mycroft looks down at the book in his hands, whilst he wonders if it can really hold all the answers he craves, she reaches across and slips a hand onto his shoulder, before she squeezes it briefly. 

 

Then as the action makes him come out of his thought he tells her, “Thank you,” sincerely as he looks up at her and Molly nods, before she makes to leave his room. 

 

But then she remembers something and so with her fingers upon the door she looks back at him and says, “You might also be interested to know that, that’s F/N’s copy of the book. I borrowed it from her just now saying that I wanted to read it again. I don’t know if there’s any notes inside it or anything like that but…” she trails off now. 

 

So, “Thank you,” Mycroft repeats and she nods again, before she leaves and closes the door behind her. 

 

Then Mycroft abandons his university work without further ado and goes to sit on his bed instead so that he may read the book in comfort. 

 

He spends the whole night reading it and when he comes to the line, _‘We accept the love we think we deserve,’_ and sees that it has been underlined he lets out a little breath and has to stop for a moment, for he knows that’s what Molly wanted him to know. And then since it is the only line that has been marked out by you so far in the book he wonders what it means to you, before he wonders if Molly’s right and if you _are_ only going out with Rufus because you've given up on the prospect of anything more. Then he ponders on how, if that’s the case, he can make you see that you deserve more even though he knows that you don’t feel that way about him and even though he knows that you’d never consider _him_ as being that something more. And he reads on now in the hope that the book will also provide such an answer. But by its end he still feels like there’s no clear path to showing you such a thing. Let alone to how he can possibly become that something more for you. For as much as he’s struggling with you dating Rufus and as much as he doesn't want to get hurt again he knows, more than ever before now, that he wants to date you. But at the same time he doesn't have any idea of how he can make such a desire into a reality. And as smart as he knows he is, in that moment he wishes that he were even more intelligent so that he could work out the best way to your heart.


	5. Valentine's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past comes back to haunt you in a big way and the consequences are far further reaching than you could have ever imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thank you so much for all your support! :D I really appreciate it! :D 
> 
> Things take a darker turn from here on out however and I have to warn you that there is a scene, which contains rape towards the beginning of this chapter. And that the scene does involve the Reader character so please just skip it and scroll down a bit if you'd rather not read it.
> 
> Thank you. :)

The exams take over the next couple of weeks, before January gives way to the slight thaw of February and your lectures and seminars start up again.

 

And things are quite calm and smooth until, that is, you go up to your room for bed on the night of the 14th February. [You got a cute card from Rufus in the post and a, “Happy Valentine’s Day F/N. I hope Rufus sent you something nice?” from Mycroft in the kitchen as you washed and dried up together that lunch time, so all in all you’re feeling quite happy with how the day went.] But when you enter your room there’s a surprise waiting for you. And the little smile that was on your face as you entered grows now as you take in the lumpy, grey parcel that someone’s put on your bed. So you go across to it eagerly and pick it up with apprehensive yet excited fingers. The outer covering of it feels soft but hard underneath. And perhaps it’s from Rufus you think now. Perhaps he brought it around before and left it with Molly or someone to finish your day off nicely. Or maybe, you think, as you really let your thoughts run away from you now, it’s from someone else entirely, and you think of Mycroft hopefully now, before you rip the grey wrapping and bubble wrap off it eagerly.

 

But then you utter out a gasp and the object falls out of your hands and onto your bed. For the present isn't something sweet off either Rufus or Mycroft. Instead it’s a single trainer and not just any trainer either. But a trainer that you know once belonged to Carl Powers. 

 

And then your bedroom door slams shut behind you so you turn swiftly, before your breath leaves you once again as you see James Moriarty standing there. 

 

And at the sight of him your eyes dart in a panic to the closed door behind him and then you open your mouth to call for help but, “Careful,” Moriarty says, and your eyes go back to him, wide with horror, as he raises a finger to his lips. 

 

Then you swallow, before you shift your position as you weigh up your options. Moriarty’s blocking the door so as much as you want to you can’t run out, and you can tell by the grim expression on his face and by what he’s just said that if you yell out he’ll only make things worse for you, if not tonight, then in the long run. So in the end you conclude that the only thing you can do is talk and pray that, that will make him slip up somehow and give you a way out of there. And, with that in mind, you hold his gaze and fold your arms across your chest as you ask, “What are you doing here?”

 

But he knows what you're doing and more to the point he seems pleased that you've chosen that option, for something sparks in his eyes as he runs his tongue across his lips and steps closer to you. Then, “Reminding you of your past of course,” he says, as if it should be obvious and you swallow as he adds, “You seem to be under the delusion lately that you've got a future away from it.”

 

So, “Of course I've got a future,” you tell him scornfully, before you can stop yourself. and then you close your mouth with a snap as you realize that you may have just made him even angrier. 

 

But he doesn't snap at you and his eyes don’t flash. Instead he steps forwards so that he’s right in front of you and most definitely invading your personal space, and although you want to step back you don’t and you keep your head held high as he moves to circle around you a couple of times. Then he steps behind you and pushes his body against you and you feel repulsed, before he leans forwards and pushes your hair aside, and as he does so his fingers caress your cheek. Then, “Do you remember Carl F/N?” he whispers into your ear. 

 

So, “Of course I do,” you spit out as your whole body aches to just dart away from him. 

 

But before you can give into that particular desire he goes on, “Then you’ll remember what he did and how it made me feel too, won’t you?” and his breath tickles against your ear unpleasantly now. Yet in spite of it all you jerk your head forwards clumsily. So he simply smiles, before he pulls back a little to plant a kiss upon your shoulder, whilst his fingers hold your hair back all the while. Then he lifts his head back up and murmurs, “And if you remember, then, I'm sorry, but you can’t hold me responsible for what I'm about to do next. You brought it all upon yourself.” 

 

And your reaction is immediate. You let out a gasp, before your body starts forwards but he grabs you around the middle so you let out a little shout, yet his hand covers your mouth just as quickly. So with your eyes wide you struggle against him, whilst your warm, frantic breaths hit his hand. But he’s stronger than you and in a better position so it’s only a minute at the most, before he throws you on top of your bed. And you feel winded as you land but you make up to sit up at once, to get away from him. Yet he moves to lie on top of you before you can. Then he pins your arms down to the side of your head with his hands. So you let out more frantic breaths and attempt to push against him, but it’s no good. And when you finally stop squirming he smiles at you and says, “Good,” softly, before he runs his tongue experimentally down your cheek and you cringe beneath him as he leaves a trail of saliva there. Then, “What Carl did was bad, but what you did F/N, well, that was even worse,” he says, and you stare at him now as your heart pumps wildly in your chest, before you listen as he goes on, “So I've been saving up something very special for you, for a long, long time,” and you gasp again. Then you attempt to push against him once more. But he laughs at you now. Not a full-blown laugh but a kind of dark chuckle that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end because it's like he's finding all your fear cute. Then he pushes his face even closer to yours, and for a moment you think that he’s going to kiss your cheek. But instead he brushes the back of his head against your face like a cat so you push down into the bed so that you’re as far away from him as you possibly can be. Then in the next moment he leans away from you a little, but it’s only for a second and not long enough for you to be able to push him off you successfully, before he smirks at you and shifts down so that he can run his tongue across your neck. And so you let out another breath, before your hands curl around his as you attempt to dig your fingernails into his hands. But he seems oblivious to your pressure and when he lifts his head up again he simply smacks his lips together, before he tells you almost sadly, “You abandoned me”-

 

So, “You murdered him,” you growl out, before you struggle against him again, but he barely has to shift his position to stay on top of you. 

 

Then, “Yes I did,” he says grimly, before as your eyes go even wider he says, “But don’t worry, I've been plotting something _much_ sweeter for you honey.” And then as you stare at him he goes on leisurely, “You won’t _believe_ the amount of time I've been working on this one either, much longer than the time you've been trying to seduce Mycroft for one thing,” before as your eyes flicker he says, “But then again if it wasn't for me then you might have never met him.” So your mouth opens a little now, whilst you release your pressure on him as you wonder what on earth he’s on about. And seeing such a thing he puts his mouth close to your ear again as he whispers, “Didn't you ever wonder why you ended up living here?”

 

So, “Sherlock”- you get out, before you break off as he grips your arms even harder.

 

And, “Ah, yes, but it all went from one extreme to the other didn't it? You went from being in a bit of a disaster to having the best luck of anyone”- Moriarty begins.

 

So, “You made sure my accommodation fell through?” you splutter out incredulously. 

 

And, “Very good,” Moriarty smiles, before he puts even more pressure on you. Then, “I made sure that John knew about that party too and encouraged him to take his little friend Sherlock there, before I pushed John into the direction of a pretty girl so that Sherlock would be on his own and in the perfect position to ask you to be his new housemate”- he begins to explain. 

 

So, “Why did you want me here? Why did it matter where I was?” you interrupt him now, whilst your head spins with all this new information. 

 

And he pulls a bit of a face as if you've disappointed him again, before he clambers off you so you sit up with a gasp. But once more he’s in between you and the door. Then he says silkily, “There’s more to this then just you F/N,” and, “Sherlock Holmes has been on my radar for a while.” But you just stare at him, not understanding, so, “He was the only one who ever thought there was something suspicious about Carl’s death. But he was just a little kid himself. No one paid him any attention”-

 

And, “Apart from you,” you interrupt, still sitting on the bed as you breathe heavily. 

 

And he smiles again, before, “Apart from me,” he agrees, so you force yourself to smile back at him, albeit a little uncertainly, whilst your mind tries to come up with a way of getting him to leave, before any of this can escalate any further. But then, “Take off your clothes,” he snaps, and as you jump at his tone it's hard for you to believe that he was just smiling a moment ago. 

 

Yet even though he's not smiling any more that doesn't stop you from folding your arms at once protectively across your chest, before you blurt out, “No.” 

 

So he re-phrases it slightly when he says, “Take your clothes off or I’ll take them off for you.”

 

And so, with nothing helpful inside your head and seeing that you've got no choice you begin to take off your clothes with trembling fingers. 

 

Then once you’re done he gestures for you to lie on your bed again so you obey, whilst your whole body trembles and you feel sick. And then there’s some rustling as he strips himself, before there’s a crinkle of a foil packet being ripped open. And you can't help but look across and eye the condom that Moriarty’s pulling out of it with surprise now. For what on earth’s his angle? 

 

But, “Honey, no offence or anything, but I think that a child with both of our genes swirling inside it would be one the world doesn't need to see,” Moriarty says as he slips the condom on, before he comes towards you with some satisfaction on his face, and your eyes can’t help but dart to the door again. 

 

Yet, “There’s no point in yelling out,” he tells you casually as he comes to lie on top of you once more. Then, “I’ll tell them all about what happened with little Carl if I have to,” he says, before he pauses to consider something. And then he goes on, “Though I don’t think I’d actually need to because after all who would believe that you don’t want this?” in a low voice so you open your mouth to protest, before you pale considerably as he goes on, “You've done an excellent job after all.”

 

So, “What do you mean?” you ask him raggedly, before you tense up even more when his tongue flicks out towards your neck. 

 

And, “Well,” he begins, before, “It’s almost as if you wanted to tell everyone you were jealous about my relationship with Molly with the way you were talking about me all the time and trying to get her not to have sex with me. Not to mention how you threw a knife on the floor because you couldn't even bear to watch me kiss her and how you ran away as soon as you could on Halloween. In fact you couldn't have played the part any better if I’d scripted you myself,” he finishes, and you feel very close to being sick, for you know that he’s right and know that, that’s exactly how it will look. 

 

Yet still you can’t help but hope, “Molly would believe me”-

 

But, “No she wouldn't,” Moriarty interrupts in a singsong voice, before he pushes inside you roughly. And you cry out in pain and struggle beneath him. But he’s got your arms pinned down so you’re utterly helpless as he thrusts, whilst his eyes spark with something devious as he watches you the whole time. 

And, "Please don't do this, please stop, please..." you gasp out as tears run down your face.

 

But he doesn't stop at your words. Instead he just smiles. And it seems to take an agonizingly long time for him to come and your face is awash with tears by the time he finally does, and then, “There,” he gasps, once his body’s shuddering no more with his breath hot against your face. Then, “I think we’ll leave it there for tonight,” he says, and your heart clenches in panic at the implication behind his words, before he smirks at you and slides out. 

 

He leaves a moment later once he’s tugged the condom off and pulled his underwear and trousers back on, and, knowing that he’ll be back but too sore to do anything, you just curl up on your bed with your back facing the door, whilst you make keening noises as you cry softly. 

 

As predicted he returns a moment later and he closes the door softly behind him as he does so. Then he shoots you a satisfied look, before he comes to lie behind you and puts his arms around your waist so that he’s holding you to him tightly. 

 

Being held like him is like being a fly that a spider’s toying with in its web, before it eats it for dinner. But even though you feel sick from his touch you’re too weak and in shock from what's happened to do anything more than to close your eyes and pray that this nightmare will be over soon. 

 

*

 

When you wake up though Moriarty’s hands are still holding you to him, though the soft, even breaths that are hitting against the back of your neck tell you that he’s asleep. So, in relief, you slip away from him and clamber around, off your bed, before you tug your dressing gown on and grab a handful of fresh, clean clothes from your drawers and wardrobe. Then you slip out of your bedroom silently and hurry across to the bathroom, before you dart inside it and lock the door behind you. And as soon as it’s bolted it’s like the dam inside you properly breaks and your body shakes, whilst sobs escape your lips, so you switch on the shower hurriedly with fumbling fingers to drown out your noise. Then you spend the longest of times just crying and frantically trying to wash Moriarty off your skin, but no matter how hard you scrub you can still smell him and still feel him there and in the end you just slide down the shower wall and draw your knees to your chest, before you sob into them as the torrent of water hits your head still. 

 

Yet you can’t stay there forever and you know that you have to try and carry on somehow regardless. 

 

So you dry yourself and dress, before you go to peek into your room, and then when you see that Moriarty’s still inside it in the exact same position that you left him in, you close the door quietly again, before you slip downstairs. 

 

Everyone’s there eating breakfast by the table and the sight of something so normal after you've endured something so horrible all night almost makes you cry. 

 

But you can’t, you can’t just break down and tell them because Moriarty’s right, they wouldn't believe you, and you feel so ashamed of yourself all of a sudden because maybe you hadn't done enough last night to stop what he'd done to you...

 

But, “Hi F/N,” Molly says cheerily, before you can think any more, and the sunshine surrounding her just makes you feel even sicker. 

 

Yet somehow you get out, “Morning,” and although Mycroft raises an eyebrow and Sherlock gives you a strange look no one else seems to notice any change in you. 

 

So, feeling grateful for the fact, you sit down in your normal seat.

 

But you don’t feel much like eating so you just opt for one piece of toast, which you add a bit of jam too in an automatic gesture and not because you actually feel like any. 

 

Then, “I was just telling the boys now,” Molly says, and she sounds a little excited so you can’t help but look at her, “That someone must have got lucky last night.” And she giggles a bit now, before she continues, “There was a condom in the kitchen bin this morning, I saw it when I was preparing breakfast, but no one’s come clean yet”-

 

Yet, “Ah, that might be because it’s actually none of them,” a voice says, and your heart jolts in your chest now as Moriarty enters the room, still only wearing his trousers. 

 

So, _“James!”_ Molly exclaims in surprise, before, “What are you doing here?” she asks. 

 

And Moriarty stops now and shoves his hands in his pockets as he shifts from foot to foot a little guiltily so Mycroft and Sherlock’s eyes both narrow at him, whilst your heart pounds erratically in your chest once more and Molly and Greg stare at him. 

 

Then, “Ah, I was rather hoping it wouldn't be like this,” Moriarty begins, and he runs a hand through his hair now, making it stick up, before, “But, well, you know I came around late last night to see you Molly?” he continues and Molly nods now, her heart somewhere near her throat, whilst her lips are slightly parted apprehensively. “Well, I was just going to let myself out when I realized that I needed the toilet so I went upstairs,” Moriarty continues, and he steps a bit closer to you all now. Then, “And, well, I saw F/N on the landing and we got chatting,” he lies, before he comes behind you, and as he slips his hands on your shoulders you can hear the little jerk of breath that leaves Mycroft’s lips and you feel sick to your stomach by both Moriarty's touch and Mycroft's reaction. “And then one thing, as they say, sort of led to another,” Moriarty finishes, before his hand slides down to apply pressure to one of your wrists. Then he bends down to kiss you on the neck and Mycroft’s hand goes white on the butter knife. And it does so because for the last couple of weeks he’d just taken to talking to you as he normally would and asking every now and again after Rufus in the faint hope that at some point you’d have sorted out whatever confidence issues you’d been having and tell him that you’d broken up with him. Yet even though such a hope had never been realized all in all he hadn't found the situation to be too bad what with Rufus not being present and all. Especially when he considered the fact that he sees you more than Rufus does. And though he hadn't been sure exactly what direction things would go on to take the very last thing that he’d been expecting is the situation that he now finds himself witnessing. The situation where you've apparently just had sex with Moriarty of all people. 

 

Yet all you can see is Molly’s horrified face as she stares at you in complete utter shock so you jerk forwards to get Moriarty off you. Then you gasp, “Molly, I, this isn't”- but you don’t get any further for Molly turns and runs off and Greg gives you a look, before he takes off after her a moment later. 

 

And, “How could she do that?” Molly exclaims as tears fly from her face when she finally comes to a stop at the bottom of the hill that leads up to the university campus and whirls around to see Greg there. 

 

So, “I don’t know,” Greg says in a hollow tone, whilst he feels useless. For he hasn't even had a chance to take everything in, let alone work out how to deal with it all or figure out how he’s supposed to make Molly feel better. 

 

But, “We were supposed to be friends”- Molly gets out now and Greg looks at her, before as her trembling hands go up to cover her mouth he takes her with a gentle firmness into his arms. Then, “She knew, she _knew_ I really liked him, she knew that we’d had sex”- Molly goes on and she’s too lost in everything to notice how Greg’s fingers, which had been rubbing at the bottom of her arms soothingly suddenly freeze up stiffly. So, “H-How could she?” she asks. 

 

And, “I don’t know,” Greg just repeats. 

 

Yet, “All this time,” Molly goes on as she waves a hand, before she swallows, and her anger seems more prominent in her words now, “Haven’t we been trying to help her get together with Mycroft? Haven’t I tried my best to help her? Did I not push Mycroft to talk to her so that she wouldn't have to deal with his stupidity on top of all the exam stress that she was going through last month?”-

 

And, “You've been the best friend that you could to her,” Greg interrupts her now, whilst anger rises up inside him. For everything that Molly’s said is true, she’s only ever tried to be a good friend to her and this is how you've chosen to repay her. 

 

Yet, “All this time she just wanted him,” Molly realizes. Then she pushes herself out of Greg’s arms and begins to walk steadily up to the university, leaving Greg standing there and feeling like his own heart is breaking as he watches after her. 

 

Meanwhile in the dining room Mycroft swallows and then asks, “F/N, can I have a word with you in private?” so you look at him for a moment, before you nod and get up, whilst Sherlock seems to be doing his best impression of a statue for he remains completely still as he observes the scene. 

 

Then Moriarty slides into your vacated seat a moment later and as Mycroft plants a hand on your back and begins to steer you out Moriarty calls out jokingly, “Hey, hands off my girl,” so Mycroft’s hand momentarily flops on your back like a goldfish out of water, before it settles there once more as he looks over his shoulder to give Moriarty a dark look. 

 

Yet Moriarty, now munching on a piece of toast couldn't look more smug and, “Mmm, I always get so hungry after sex,” he says, which only makes Mycroft’s expression darken even more, before he goes back to steering you out of the room. 

 

But as soon as you leave Moriarty turns his attention to Sherlock when he leans across the table towards him slightly, the piece of toast still in his hand and asks, “What about you?” 

 

So Sherlock turns his head slowly so that his glittering blue eyes can lock with Moriarty’s dark ones, before he raises an eyebrow and comments, _“Hmm?”_

 

Then, “Do you get hungry after sex?” Moriarty drawls, and Sherlock stiffens now, which just makes a delicious smirk cross Moriarty’s lips, before he adds, “Ah I thought so,” as he leans back again. 

 

So, “What?” Sherlock questions him haughtily. 

 

And, “I thought you’d never had sex before,” Moriarty explains, before he chews on the rest of his toast with an open mouth and manages to scatter crumbs everywhere as he does so, which causes Sherlock’s expression to become a rather disgusted one. But that only makes Moriarty smile even more, and as he stands up he sucks at his fingers quickly, before he rubs a quick hand across Sherlock’s shoulder. Then, “Ciao Sherlock Holmes,” he says, before he makes to swagger out. 

 

But before he can Sherlock murmurs, “Oh, I don’t think this is about sex any more than I think you do,” in a rumbling sort of tone. 

 

Yet his words don’t seem to faze Moriarty at all, for instead of stopping he merely calls over his shoulder, “Well you’ll just have to find out what it _is_ about then, won’t you?” before he makes his exit.

 

So, “Oh I will,” Sherlock breathes but Moriarty doesn't hear him.

 

You meanwhile only had time to take in a deep gulp of air once you’d made it out onto the street, before Mycroft’s hand had closed around your wrist and he’d led you two streets away. 

 

And now he stops on the pavement around the corner, lets go of you and looks at you as he breathes, “What the hell’s going on?” before as you open your mouth he goes on, “Firstly I thought you already had a boyfriend?” whilst he tries to keep a straight head about things because quite frankly he feels like he’s woken up in a different universe. 

 

So you look around helplessly for a moment now, for this is the first time that you've spared Rufus a thought since all of this happened. Then your eyes look back into Mycroft’s as you lie feebly, “I-I, we broke up, it wasn't working”-

 

Yet, “He sent you a Valentine’s Day card only yesterday,” Mycroft interrupts you disbelievingly now, and you want to cry again because this is such a mess. 

 

But, “I know, but when I phoned him last night to thank him we ended up arguing and calling it a day,” you invent instead, and your throat feels dry as you finish. 

 

And for a moment Mycroft just looks at you because although he’s wanted to hear you say such a thing, now, in the circumstances that you have done he doesn't believe you. In fact for a moment he just wants to argue the point further. But in the end he just waves a hand dismissively, for whether you’re telling the truth or not that’s not the real issue here in any case. So, “Secondly I've always been under the impression that you can’t stand Moriarty and that everything about him repels you,” Mycroft finishes and his eyes fix hard on you now. For _this_ is the real issue. And this is the thing that he doesn't understand the most. For he’s gotten things wrong about you before. _So_ wrong. But the one thing that he’s felt confident about for the longest of times is that you don’t like Moriarty in that way. For that’s what you’d told him hadn't you? All that time ago in you bedroom. That you hadn't and would never be interested in Moriarty that way. And he’d trusted you and chosen to believe you. So for you to have somehow ended up having sex with him, _unless_ …and at that sudden thought his eyebrows rise up suddenly and his lips part in horror as he looks at you. 

 

And for one wild moment, with him watching you so attentively, you want to tell him that he’s right, that Moriarty repels you and that he raped you last night. You want Mycroft to take you in his arms and protect you and then for him to somehow sort Moriarty out and make the problem of him go away. But you can’t, because if you do you know that Moriarty will tell Mycroft about what you did and then you’ll never see Mycroft again because he won’t want to be anywhere near you. So instead you just swallow and shrug, “Like he said it just sort of happened,” before when Mycroft looks at you doubtfully, and you can’t know how much his mind is panicking and worrying as he does so, you add in a choked but firm kind of voice, “We were friends once…” 

 

And your words make the panic momentarily cease in Mycroft’s head in shock, before he asks you, “ _Were_ you?” with surprise evident in his voice. 

 

So you nod, before, “ _Best_ friends,” you say even more firmly, and he knows that whatever lies you might have just told him that this isn't one of them. 

 

Then you force yourself to give him a little half-smile, before you drift away from him vaguely back to the house with your head bowed and arms folded. And as his body thrums with energy as he stares after you for one wild moment he wants to call after you. He wants to ask if Moriarty raped you last night. And he can feel the question literally on the tip of his tongue, making it tingle. But he’s too afraid and he has no idea of how he's supposed to deal with such a thing if that's the case. So, until he can perhaps find enough courage to ask you such a thing he vows to keep a close eye on you instead and to perhaps try and ascertain what had happened between Moriarty and you previously, for he senses that, that’s where the key to all this lies.

 

*

 

You’re on your way to your second lecture of the day and walking across the concourse where ironically you first saw Moriarty watching you when you stop dead near its centre as you see Molly walking towards you quickly from the side entrance you’re heading to. 

 

And a desperate, “Molly”- is all you get out, before her hand flies up to whip across your face.

 

So you gasp out as your cheek stings from the contact, whilst your hand reaches up to feel your cheek instinctively. Then your eyes go to her and you feel like she’s hit you all over again as you take in her hurt-filled eyes and all the anger that radiates across from her, before after one last look at you she turns around and walks away, not even giving you a chance to explain. 

 

*

 

“I'm telling you there’s something going on here,” Sherlock says with frustration in his tone as he strides alongside John as he accompanies him to his next lecture. 

 

“And I'm telling you that you’re overreacting to all this,” John blurts out, before he comes to a stop outside the lecture hall, which people are already filtering into. Then he huffs out a breath as they turn to each other, before he goes on with exasperation evident in his tone; “Sherlock people cheat and sleep around and make bad choices all the time. Just because F/N slept with Moriarty when he was meant to be dating Molly doesn't mean that there’s anything weird going on”-

 

But, “Why do you have to be such an idiot John?” Sherlock interrupts now because he can’t take any more of John’s quite frankly ridiculous behaviour. 

 

So, “Oh, you’re going to insult me now? That’s very mature of you Sherlock, well done”-

 

But, “This isn't just about sex I'm sure of it,” Sherlock begins now as he runs both of his hands through his wild curls, before he drops them down again. Then, “There’s something more going on,” he says with frustration in his tone, before when he sees that John still looks as clueless as ever he goes on, “And maybe if you weren't so caught up in sex yourself you’d be able to see it!”

 

And John does a double take now, then, “Oh we’re back to that are we?” he asks.

 

So, “Yes we are,” Sherlock blurts out, before, “Because you’re being so blind, and maybe if you weren't you could help me get to the bottom of all this. But instead you just seem determined to be ordinary”-

 

Yet, “There’s nothing _wrong_ with being ordinary Sherlock!” John snaps now, before he says, “Just because I have a girlfriend and like going to the pub and watching football and _yes_ like having sex, doesn't make me any less of a person than you with all your stupid conspiracy theories.” Then when he finishes they just stare at each other and John takes in the frustration that flashes through Sherlock’s blue eyes as his lips part, whilst Sherlock takes in John’s furrowed brow, before John says, “I've got to go.” And then he turns and pushes the door to the lecture hall open roughly, before he disappears inside it, leaving Sherlock to feel more frustrated than ever. 

 

* 

 

That night sees the tensest dinner that you've ever experienced in all your time of living there. 

 

None of you say a word. You just all sit there in a strong silence, and as you eat quickly with your stomach churning Mycroft seems to be the only one capable of looking at you without a glare being on his face. Saying that though Sherlock probably can too, but he seems to be in a bad mood for some other reason and you can’t help but wonder now if anything’s happened between him and John. 

 

And unfortunately it’s also your turn to wash and dry everything up so you can’t even bolt to your room once you've eaten as you have to wait for everyone else to finish too, which is something that’s made even worse by the fact that you finish eating first. So instead of looking up at anyone you just bow your head, whilst your hands fidget together restlessly on your lap and Mycroft eyes you with concern. For he can’t help, _especially_ with your behaviour, feel the fear that he’d felt earlier rise up within him again. And still, what with only a few hours having passed and him having had little space, what with his lectures and everything to think clearly about it all, he has no idea of what he should or shouldn't do about it all. For how on earth is he meant to have that conversation with you? He wonders as he stares hopelessly at you. And it’s not just his feeling of impossibility at how to approach it all that makes him feel like the words are trapped in his mouth, but also the fact that once he gets them out he won’t be able to take them back. For they’ll be out there and he’ll have to face the consequences of having breached such a topic. 

 

Meanwhile you've reached your limit so your eyes flick up to check on everyone’s progress. Then seeing that everyone’s nearly finished you let out a little breath of relief, before you get up and take your plate over to the sink so that you can begin washing up. And as you do so the weight of tension seems to lift from the table with you and you wonder now what they’d all expected you to do, to rub your supposed relationship with Moriarty in their faces perhaps? And you can’t help but feel sad at how easily everything’s fractured between you all and it makes you wonder if everything was really that strong between you all in the first place. And that thought makes you feel sad and as you begin to fill up the bowl with water and washing up liquid a couple of tears slide down your face so you brush your face against your shoulder to get rid of them. And as you do so you catch sight of Mycroft watching you, and you cannot know how his heart sinks even further as he does. So you turn your head quickly away and allow your hair to cover your face a little. Then, for a moment, you just start washing up quietly, but then you become aware of someone coming up behind you and your body tenses, before in the next moment whoever it is throws their plate into the sink hard and the water splashes up into your face and hair. So you let out a little yell, before you blink furiously and step back instinctively. Then, slowly, as you regain your vision you turn your head to see Molly standing there with a furious look upon her face. And you open your mouth, not sure what to say, whilst the water drips down from your face and your hands, which you hold a little away from you. But then a moment later Mycroft is by your side and you can’t know how bad he feels for getting too caught up in his thoughts and missing the signs of what Molly was about to do to you as he passes you a towel so that you might dry yourself. So you take it from him gratefully, whilst you feel breathless about what’s happened. 

 

But Molly sees his gesture as an act of betrayal and she looks between the pair of you for a moment, before she asks Mycroft, “So you’re taking her side on this are you?”

 

And, “Yeah, I wonder why that might be?” Greg snipes in the background and a light flush crosses Mycroft’s face at his words. 

 

But Sherlock has the best idea, for he takes one look at you all and shakes his head, before he leaves you all to it and strides outside, taking out a packet of cigarettes out from his pocket as he goes. 

 

Yet, “I'm not taking anyone’s side,” Mycroft finally replies as you dry your face on the towel and so you miss Molly’s look of disbelief and Greg’s little snort of contempt. Then Mycroft shifts his position slightly, before, “Have you even given F/N an opportunity to explain?” he asks Molly as he pushes the thought of Moriarty raping you aside to one corner in his mind for a moment and just tries to be there for you. 

 

But Molly folds her arms across her chest, before she says defensively, “I don’t need her to explain anything! I know exactly what’s happened here.” 

 

“Which is?” Mycroft asks coolly now as he raises one eyebrow and slowly you move your head away from the towel as you await Molly’s answer. 

 

And, “That all this time she’s just been jealous and trying to make me break up with James- _Moriarty_ -so that she’d have him all for herself,” Molly gets out pretty much in one breath as her eyes meet yours. 

 

So, “Is that true F/N?” Mycroft asks you diplomatically as he peers down at you. 

 

And, “No,” you get out as you shake your head and Greg makes a scoffing kind of noise in his throat. 

 

But, “I don’t believe you,” Molly says as you knew she would, before, “All this time I thought you were my friend,” she adds, and her voice sounds pained. “But I should have _known_ ,” she says, and she shakes her head, before she goes on, “I felt the energy that was between you the very first day I saw him…”

 

And your breath hitches in your chest now, but before you can say anything she turns around and walks outside. 

 

And Greg looks after her, before he turns his gaze back to you and says with hard eyes, “After everything we've tried to do for you…” and then he gives both Mycroft and you a damning look, before he turns and goes out after Molly. 

 

*

 

Molly strides out past where Sherlock’s smoking on the pavement outside the house and then makes her way to the next street, but she can hear Greg clattering after her so she stops just past the street’s corner and turns to face him. 

 

And he lets out a little breath at the sight of her tear-stained face, before he instinctively pulls her tightly towards him. 

 

Then for a moment she just pushes her head against his chest and breathes him in. He smells sort of musky and faintly of leather, coffee and spearmint. Then she pulls her head back and sniffs, “I'm sorry,” and he looks down at her in amazement so she goes on to explain, “I'm getting your t-shirt wet.”

 

So Greg lets out a snort, before he says, “Oh, yeah, right, because that’s my main priority right now,” and Molly’s heart shifts a little in her chest in spite of herself but she still looks sad so, “Ignore them,” Greg gets out in one breath. And then when she looks up at him incredulously he goes on, “If Mycroft still wants her after what she’s done then that’s his problem, and besides without the pair of us as friends F/N won’t have anyone else anyway. So let her think about that and realize what a good friend she’s just thrown away. Then maybe she’ll regret what she’s done,” and as Greg squeezes her more tightly now Molly lets out a little breath. 

 

Then, “Thank you,” she tells him. 

 

So Greg nods now, before, “C’mon,” he tells her and then when she looks up at him questioningly he goes on, “I'm going to buy you a drink and make you forget about the terrible day you've just had.” 

 

But Molly just looks down at Greg’s chest for a moment and then slowly she steps back away from him and shakes her head. Then as Greg looks at her in confusion she holds his hands loosely with her own, before, “Don’t get me wrong, I'm really grateful to have such a good friend like you right now Greg, really I am, but I think I just need to be on my own tonight,” she says, and as she finishes she lets go of his hands. 

 

So, “Oh, right, yeah of course,” Greg says as if he was stupid for even thinking such a thing, let alone suggesting it. And then when he runs a flustered hand through his hair and makes it messier than ever Molly smiles in spite of herself, before she begins to turn away from him. But, “Maybe some other time then?” Greg can’t stop himself from asking hopefully now so Molly turns back to him. 

 

Then she stares at him for a moment and takes in the earnest look of hope that’s in his chocolate eyes, though she can’t know the way that his heart’s shuddering in his chest as he waits for an answer, before, “Yes, I think I’d like that,” she says, and Greg lets out a little breath of relief, whilst his heart calms down a little. 

 

Then, “Great,” he tells her, before she smiles and begins to walk off down the street.

 

*

 

Meanwhile back in the kitchen as soon as Molly and Greg had left you’d let out a little breath. But now, as you become even more aware of all the emotions that are filling you, you can feel a sob rising in your chest. So you swallow it back down, before you choose to lean back against the counter instead. 

 

Then, “Well,” Mycroft begins as he runs a hand through his hair, before he looks at you and takes you in as he says, “I can finish the washing up if you’d rather not do it tonight.”

 

But you shake your head, though you feel grateful nonetheless and then, “No, it’s all right,” you tell him, for you feel like he’s already done enough for you tonight as it is. Not to mention that part of you feels so desperate to cling on to some normalcy in any way you can right now. 

 

Yet, “In that case I can dry-up and save you that much at least,” he says, before he takes the towel from your hands as he does so, so that he can hang it back up. And even though you feel like you'd rather be alone right now part of you senses that he's not going to let you be, not after what's just happened, so you accept his help quietly and make to turn back to the sink as you do so. But then he notices some of the washing up suds on your hair and a, “Wait,” leaves his lips. 

 

So you turn and look back at him curiously and he lets out a little breath, before he steps forwards so that he’s right in front of you, and your breath catches in your throat at the intense way he’s looking at you. 

 

Then, “You've got a bit”- he begins as he gestures to your hair, so your hand goes up instinctively now. But, “Here, let me,” he murmurs, and then he lifts the towel so that he can wipe your hair dry more, and as he does so you can’t help but tilt your head closer to his hand so his eyes flicker to fix on you. Then he trails the towel down the side of your face, before it comes to a stop along your jaw line and your breath hitches in your chest. And he’s almost completely still now you notice, with his eyes on yours, and then when his hand absent-mindedly begins to caress your skin through the towel his eyes dart down to your lips, whilst your own part and let out a little breath. And there’s no room to think now. So you just move your head closer to his instinctively and he hesitates a moment, before he does the same. But then, before your lips can join or either of your eyes can flutter shut the door slams and Mycroft lets go of you hurriedly and the towel falls to the floor so he picks it up and clears his throat. Then he goes to hang the towel up and you just stand there for a moment, before as the sound of someone as they go upstairs comes, you return to the washing up. 

 

And neither Mycroft nor you talk again. Instead both of you just allow your respective thoughts to fill the space between you.

 

But the little voice that was in your head after Rufus’s visit has grown into a shout now and you know, you _know_ that Mycroft feels something for you and at the very least he wants to kiss you. And whilst such knowledge makes you feel happier than you've felt all day you suddenly don’t know what you’re supposed to do with it now that you know it, not when your mind's in such a state and still reeling from everything that's happened, and such a thing makes you feel frustrated so you glance at Mycroft wanting him to take control here. Yet doing so, and seeing the way that his shoulders are full of tension, whilst his face looks serious and thoughtful only makes you more confused and makes you wonder suddenly why, once it had become clear that whoever had returned had gone upstairs, he hadn't tried to kiss you again. For you can feel his body thrumming with energy and feel yours doing the same so it’s hardly like the moment between you had been properly broken. And you wonder for one wild moment now if you should just stop washing up and try to take control yourself. If you should just turn and grab his shirt with your wet hands and pull him towards you. But then Moriarty’s face comes into your mind, and you know as soon as it does that you won’t kiss Mycroft now or any time soon, not whilst all this is going on, for he's already become more involved in this than you'd like what with all the questions he was asking this morning. 

 

Mycroft’s mind is on the near kiss as well, and he feels such a mixture of things because of it. For he feels annoyed with himself for nearly doing such a thing in the first place when you’re currently so emotional. Whilst part of him feels annoyed that such a thing _didn't_ happen, for it already feels like he’s waited a lifetime to feel your soft lips against his and now he’ll have to carry on waiting. And in spite of himself his heart does a tiny flip inside his chest now as he takes in the fact that you _had_ actually been about to kiss him, and that part of you at least must like him in the way he wants you to after all. But then again you are feeling more emotional than usual right now he reminds himself. So perhaps you’d nearly kissed him out of nothing more than a desire to seek comfort in that moment. But, whatever the case, there are bigger issues at play here than his feelings for you and any possible ones that you might have for him in return he knows. Like the biggest issue of all, which is why, when you are supposedly seeing Moriarty had you just been about to kiss _him_? And again, like he has right from the start of it all, he can’t help but think that for you maybe at least you’re no more seeing Moriarty now than you have ever been seeing him, which makes the possibility of Moriarty raping you all the more likely… 

 

*

 

The following night after you dart off straight after you've finished dinner to hide in your room Mycroft waits a little while, before he makes you a cup of tea because he’s determined to be a good friend to you right now more than he’s determined to show you how he feels romantically. 

 

So once he’s brought it up to your room and entered and you've thanked him with a grateful look upon your face he tells you gently but honestly, “You can’t hide in here forever you know,” as he goes to place your tea on the coaster on your bedside cabinet. 

 

And, “I know,” you tell him, before he nods at you and then leaves, and as soon as he’s gone you wish that you’d told him to stay. 

 

Mycroft wishes that you’d asked him to stay himself as he goes back downstairs. But then as he enters the dining room once more and sees Molly and Greg sitting by the table, with tea in between their hands as they talk quietly together, he makes up his mind in a split-second. And so rather than going back to his room he strides across to stop by the table instead. Then, when they look up at him and their conversation ceases, he informs them, “I think you’re both being very contradictory by not talking to F/N now when you ordered me to talk to her before when I didn't want to,” as he tries to make things better for you again. 

 

And Molly stiffens and avoids his gaze. 

 

But Greg says defensively, “This is completely different to then!”

 

So, “How?” Mycroft asks as he raises his eyebrows at him. 

 

And Greg lets out a bit of a huff and runs his hand through his hair, before he explains, “Well, before you were being completely unreasonable by not talking to her just because she was dating someone, which is a completely natural behaviour by the way, _unlike_ stealing other people’s boyfriends, which is _not_ Mycroft.” 

 

Yet, “Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps there’s something deeper going on here than what you can see?” Mycroft asks them now, and if they were being more reasonably minded then perhaps he’d even share his own worries about Moriarty raping you with them. But then again he thinks, what with the matter being such a delicate topic after all, perhaps he wouldn't. 

 

And Greg wrenches his mouth open, but it is Molly as she looks at the table who says quietly, “Maybe there _is_ something deeper going on here,” and both men look at her now, whilst Greg lets out a bit of a breath at her words and Mycroft allows himself to feel tentatively hopeful. But then she looks up at Mycroft and says, “Or maybe you just _want_ to believe that there’s something deeper going on here so you can pretend that she’s still the person you want her to be,” and she pauses now, before she adds, “Rather than the person she is, which is a liar who steals other people’s boyfriends.” 

 

“Or maybe I just don’t believe in turning my back on someone just because they've hurt me once,” Mycroft says as he observes her coldly now. 

 

But, “Come off it,” Greg says, and he stands up now so Mycroft looks at him. Then, “If it wasn't for us intervening then you would have turned your back on her right after Christmas,” Greg goes on, before he scoffs, “And you’re only taking her side now because you fancy her.” 

 

And Mycroft draws himself up to his full height now, before he says, “I could say the same about you with Molly,” for if Greg’s going to bring this down to crushes then he’s damn well going to do the same, and Greg flushes darkly. Then Mycroft casts them both one last look, before he turns and strides across to his room, and he closes the door behind him firmly a moment later. 

 

And Greg sits back down, his fists clenched and all of him still smarting from Mycroft’s words. 

 

Then Molly’s eyes flick up to him, before they go back to her tea as she asks, “What did he mean?” softly. 

 

And Greg swallows now, but as much as he’d like to just ask Molly out he knows that now’s not the right time. For she hasn't even been single for two full days after all and she’s still hurting from how she became so. So instead of telling her the truth he just unclenches his hands, mutters, “Nothing, he was just being a git, that’s all,” and raises his tea to his lips. 

 

So, “Oh,” Molly breathes now, feeling disappointed as she makes to sip at her tea too. 

 

And something about the way she says it makes Greg change his mind about not telling her the truth. And stuff the fact that it’s not the right time, and that life just sucks, and definitely stuff Mycroft being a dick right now. Stuff all of that Greg thinks, for he’s liked Molly ever since he met her and he’s been a good friend to her like she’s been to him so, “You know what?” he begins, feeling suddenly determined to make now the right time after all as Molly looks at him with surprise in her eyes, “It wasn't nothing, I do like you in that way,” and Molly’s breath hitches in her chest now. Then Greg goes on, “In fact I have for a long time,” with his eyes on her intently, and then when she does nothing more than part her lips he leans across and kisses her. 

 

And taken by surprise Molly lets out a little breath, whilst her heart seems to burst inside her chest, before her eyes flutter shut. Then she cups a hand around the back of Greg’s neck to draw him closer to her. His lips feel slightly rougher against hers than Moriarty’s did she notices, but there’s something about them, which makes her want to never stop kissing Greg until she finds out what that something is. 

 

And Greg too would like to continue kissing her and to allow this feeling of exhilaration at finally doing so carry on running through his body, but finally he has to pull away a little breathlessly just to allow them to get their breath back once more. 

 

And Molly lets out a little breath at the sight of his chocolate eyes so close to hers, before she smiles as he leans back a little. 

 

Then he runs a hand back through his hair, before, “So what d’you think?” he asks her. 

 

And she knows that, that’s his cute way of asking her if she’ll be his girlfriend so she takes his hand in hers and examines his fingers for a moment, whilst she decides if she’s really ready for another relationship so soon after the last one ended. Not to mention whether she really wants to risk ruining her friendship with Greg if things should go awry. 

 

But, “Take a chance on me,” Greg urges her now as he sees her uncertainty.

 

So this is Greg she reminds herself. This isn't someone she has no idea of. This is Greg who she trusts probably more than anyone right now. So when she looks back up at him she says with her mind made up, “Okay.”

 

And a goofy kind of grin lights up Greg’s face, and at the sight of it Molly finds herself smiling more than she’s done in days. 

 

*

 

Despite what you’d told Mycroft though you continue to avoid everyone else as much as you possibly can over the next few days, taking refuge in the library as much as you can during the day and your room at night. And just as you’re starting to get used to this lonely new routine of yours Moriarty takes it upon himself to sneak into your bedroom again, where he rapes you, again wearing a condom, before he sends everyone back to the highest level of tension that they can possibly be in that following morning. 

 

And that day, far from being able to concentrate at any of your lectures or seminars, you just feel even worse, if that’s possible, then you did after that first night with him because the feelings you felt then just seem even more reinforced inside you now. And you even have to walk out of a lecture just to find a toilet that you can cry in because you can’t hold it all inside you any more. 

 

Then that night you don’t even go back home for dinner. You just grab something from the café by the student union-the same one that you, Molly, Greg and Mycroft had gone to during Freshers week and God how long ago that feels now-before you go to the library and pull a textbook in front of you. 

 

But although you stare at it hard you don’t see the words clearly, let alone take them in, and you’re not sure how long you've just been staring, before a voice breaks you out of your trance when it asks, “Are you all right?” gently. 

 

And when you look up to see that it’s Mycroft wearing a look of concern on his face for you, your natural reaction is to just nod. 

 

So he stares at you for another moment, before he sits down and then asks, “Have you eaten anything?”

 

And you nod now, feeling tired and stupid, but he’s still looking at you so you elaborate, “I picked something up from the café.”

 

So, “Good,” he says now and he looks relieved. But then when you look back down at your textbook he asks, “Are you planning on heading back to the house soon?” before he pauses for a moment and then adds, “It’s getting rather dark.”

 

So you swallow, before you shrug a little as you say without looking up at him, “I dunno, maybe.” 

 

And he sighs a bit now, then, “You can’t carry on like this F/N,” he tells you, for despite the fact that the sight of Moriarty had made him feel sick this morning these words are the closest he seems able to get to the real issue he feels like he needs to talk to you about, which of course is the one of Moriarty raping you. 

 

Yet, “What am I supposed to do?” you ask him desperately. 

 

So he thinks that you could talk to him and at least let him in for a start. For hasn't he shown you by now that he’s there for you? But he also knows that if he tells you this you’ll only end up arguing with him and he doesn't want that, he just wants to take care of you. So he merely sighs again and asks, “Would you like me to do anything on your behalf?” whilst he neglects to mention that he’s already tried to talk to Molly and Greg about it because he doesn't think you’d approve of him going behind your back.

 

But you just shake your head, before, “No,” you say, so at a loss as to what to do for the best he just nods and then makes to do some studying of his own opposite you.

 

*

 

And to no one’s surprise, least of all your own, things don’t improve. But they get even worse, when on a blustery day at the beginning of March; you come downstairs that morning to find Mycroft sitting with none other than Rufus at the breakfast table. So you stop dead as they both look at you. 

 

Then Mycroft says coolly with hard eyes, “Ah, F/N, Rufus just turned up. He said he’d come to see his _girlfriend_ ,” and your heart drops like a stone in your chest.


	6. Bruised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When things don't improve for you Mycroft enlists Sherlock's help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thank you so much for all your support, I really appreciate it! :) 
> 
> There's a scene, which features the act of rape in the middle of this chapter so once more please skip it if you don't want to read it. Thank you.

For a moment you don’t move. You just stand there with your mouth slightly open, whilst your heart starts to increase its pace. 

 

Then a moment later Rufus says, “Is it okay that I'm here?” with a bit of a nervous laugh, before he adds, “You kind of look terrified,” and Mycroft clears his throat prominently, for he can’t help but feel hurt that you've lied to him again so you send him a dark look. Yet it’s wasted on him because he’s just looking down as he spreads marmalade on to his toast. 

 

So you look back at Rufus. Then, “Yeah, yeah, of course it’s fine, I'm just a bit surprised that’s all,” you say as you run a flustered hand through your hair. But then as you begin to step forwards something wraps its arms around your waist so you let out a little startled yelp, which makes Mycroft’s head jerk up straight away. And in turn he nearly drops the knife he’s been holding as he does so, and the slight clatter of it against his plate as he re-adjusts his grip on it makes Rufus’s eyes go to him for a moment. 

 

Yet they soon go back to you when Moriarty croons into your ear, “I was wondering where you’d run off to,” before he moves to kiss your neck. And, frozen in shock, for a moment you just let him. But then you jerk out of his grasp, before your eyes swivel back to the table at the sound of someone’s chair scraping back. 

 

It’s Rufus as he gets up from the table and you just stare at him with your mouth letting out a few little helpless gasps as he strides up to you. 

 

Then he stops in front of you with his face flushed and his eyes shining with hurt, before, “I should have known,” he gets out as he breathes hard, “That you’d never choose me when you've got your pick here.” And then he asks, “How many guys have you been shagging besides me?” so you let out a little breath. But then he turns to look at Mycroft and then he exclaims, “ _You!_ Have you been shagging her? Is that what you were doing with her at the library? Shagging between the shelves?”

 

And Mycroft looks between you both with pursed lips for a moment, whilst he tries to suppress the image of you pressed up against a bookshelf, your soft skin glistening with moisture as he thrusts into you. Then his eyes go back to Rufus as he states coolly, “ _Certainly_ not.”

 

And a moment later Mycroft feels like he must have managed to suppress his true feelings and desires quite well for Rufus nods and then turns back to you, before he says, “Don’t expect a warm welcome if you ever come back to Brighton because I'm going to make sure that everyone knows what you’re like,” with his voice both full of a firm kind of anger and hurt. And you make to grab at his arm, whilst your mouth opens and closes repeatedly as you try to find the words to say something.

 

But he just moves his arm away and gives you one last look. Then he pushes past you and you hear the door slam a moment later. 

 

So your head automatically turns to Moriarty who just scrunches his shoulders up as he smiles, _“Oops.”_

 

Then you’re turning around too and striding out of there, whilst your breath comes swiftly in your chest. 

 

And Mycroft hesitates a moment, for he’s had quite enough of all this drama and for one moment he’s quite tempted to just sit there and try to ignore it. But at the same time he knows that you’re upset and he doesn't feel comfortable with just letting you go off like that. Plus he wants answers. So, in the end, he pushes his plate aside, before he gets up and makes to go past Moriarty without a word. 

 

But, “You’re being _soooo_ obvious, you know,” Moriarty drawls, so Mycroft stops, huffs out an impatient breath and turns his head to look at him. Blue eyes meet brown. Then, “If I wasn't so amused by the pathetic way that you run after her everywhere I might be annoyed,” Moriarty teases and Mycroft’s eyes flash angrily. 

 

Yet, “I don’t know what’s going on,” Mycroft begins, “But I assure you that I _will_ find out,” he finishes evenly. 

 

And Moriarty observes him for a moment like a bird of prey considering whether it wants the scrap of meat that’s left at the end of its meal or not. Then, “Good. I look forward to it,” he says, before he adds, “Perhaps you should invite your brother onto the case. I know that he quite fancies himself as a detective.” And then as he finishes he gives Mycroft a little wink and Mycroft bristles as he wonders what else Moriarty knows about Sherlock. Then he watches as Moriarty slouches off towards the table where he sits down in Mycroft’s chair, before he eats Mycroft’s recently abandoned toast and runs his tongue across the marmalade that Mycroft had just taken care to put on it as he does so. And as Mycroft watches him do such things irritation fills him. 

 

But, “Go on then,” Moriarty says around his mouthful of toast, and crumbs spray everywhere as he talks, which causes Mycroft’s nose to wrinkle in distaste. Then Moriarty nods towards the door and says, “You don’t want to miss the chance to rescue your damsel in distress,” and Mycroft stares at him with hard eyes for one last time, before he turns around with a flourish and strides out. 

 

Of course though when he steps out with the cold breeze wrapping around him you’re nowhere in sight. So on a whim he folds his arms across his chest and heads up towards the campus. 

 

He walks quickly and when he turns the final corner he can see you from a distance heading up the steps towards the main building so he breaks out into a rare jog and his fringe flops against his forehead as he does so, whilst his muscles complain about the sudden exertion. 

 

Then when he gets to the bottom of the steps and begins to climb them you've just reached the top, so before you can disappear from his line of vision he calls out, “F/N!”

 

And you jerk out of whatever angry thought you’d been having when you hear Mycroft’s voice, which the breeze had carried up to you. Then you spin around, before you let out a little breath when you see him as he climbs towards you determinedly. And you feel taken aback by how attractive you find him in that moment. For with his hair slightly tousled, his cheeks slightly flushed, the top two buttons of his light blue shirt undone revealing a small peek of chest hair and his blue eyes dark as they fix on you the whole time he looks hot in every sense of the word and you can’t take your eyes off him. So when he joins you, you blink a little to try and clear your head, whilst he pants and peers down at you. 

 

Then, “Good,” he says a little breathlessly, before he goes on, “I was hoping I’d catch up with you,” and he swallows and takes another fleeting moment to get his breath back, smiling at you apologetically as he does so. Then, “Now, what on earth’s going on? You told me that you’d split up with Rufus, and whilst I have to admit that I did wonder about the validity of your statement I took it in good faith,” he says. 

 

So you swallow, before you say, “I was lonely with the long distance thing,” which is the first lie that pops into your head. Then you add feebly, “I didn't think it mattered if no one found out.” 

 

But Mycroft only frowns and folds his arms, whilst he can’t help feel disappointed that you've just lied to him again because he’s been trying to be there for you and _still_ you won’t be honest with him. Then he says, “Do you really expect me to believe that? I wasn't born yesterday F/N,” and his eyes are cold. 

 

So you look down, before you breathe softly, “I know you weren't.” 

 

“Then if that’s the case tell me the truth,” Mycroft tells you firmly. 

 

But, “I _can’t_ ,” you choke out, before you make to swing around and walk away from him. 

 

Yet he’s had enough of you not letting him in and he’s not letting you go so easily this time so he grabs at your arm to pull you back to him, before he lets go of it in shock a moment later when you cry out in pain as you spin back to him. Then you wince, before you clutch at where he just touched as your eyes flick up to his tentatively. 

 

And then, “Show me your arm,” he says as evenly as he can though something inside him is trembling with fear now, for he’s still not ready to ask about Moriarty raping you. Yet now with you both teetering on the brink of such a truth he realizes that he’ll never be ready. 

 

But, “No,” you say, and you shake your head at him now. 

 

So, “F/N, _please_ , let me see you arm,” Mycroft says and there’s both something firm and desperately vulnerable inside his voice now. 

 

And hearing such a thing you hesitate only a moment, before, knowing that he won’t let go of the matter until you do so, you stretch out your arm towards him. 

 

Then as he shuffles forwards a little he reminds you of a penguin. And as he looks at you his heart pounds and when he takes your arm in between his hands gently you shiver at his touch. Then he moves one of his hands a moment later so that he can roll up your sleeve slowly, and his eyes go to you all the time as he does so to make sure that he’s not hurting you. But when he sees the dark, vivid bruise that’s on your forearm the reality of what he’s been desperately trying to avoid bringing up hits him all at once. So a little breath escapes his mouth, before he asks, “He’s raping you isn't he?” and his voice holds both an edge and an agony to it. For he can no longer try to ignore such a thing whether he’s ready or not to face it himself. And he can’t help but feel so selfish, ashamed and angry with himself because he should never have made this about what he wanted or about what he was or wasn't ready to do. Instead from the very moment that he suspected such a thing he should have been confronting Moriarty, or trying to protect you, or just doing _something_. Yet instead, though he might have been showing you that he’s on your side he’s been just as inactive as the others and he’s let you down. 

 

And you swallow, before you tug your arm out of his grasp and roll your sleeve back down, wincing again as it comes into contact with your bruise. Then, “N-No he isn't…” you attempt, but you quickly trail off at the pained expression on his face, which states quite clearly that he doesn't believe you. 

 

And, _“F/N,”_ he breathes with a soft, quiet desperateness to his voice, and you make to turn away from him again because you can’t bear to hear him saying your name like that. But, “Please, _please_ just tell me,” you hear him say pleadingly.

 

Yet that, for some reason just makes something snap inside you. And as you turn back to him there are tears upon your face and the sight of them makes Mycroft’s breath hitch painfully in his chest. Then, “Even if I did it’s not like you could do anything about it,” you begin in a desperate, rough offhand kind of way.

 

But, “I could”-

 

Yet, “If you told someone then I’d just deny it,” you tell him, and though there’s sadness in your tone there’s firmness there too. 

 

But, _“Why?”_ Mycroft asks, and his voice cracks as he does so. 

 

So, “Because you can’t help me with this,” you tell him, and then you give him a little desperate shrug, before you go on, “And anyway after what I did I probably deserve it”-

 

Yet, “Don’t say that,” Mycroft interrupts you now, “ _Please_ don’t say that, you could _never_ deserve”-

 

But, “Just stay out of this Mycroft,” you tell him as you swipe your tears away, and then you add a desperate, “Please, I'm _begging_ you, just stay out of it,” before you turn and move away. 

 

But, _“F/N!”_ he calls after you automatically despite the fact that he has absolutely no idea what he’ll say to you if you _do_ turn around. 

 

Yet you don’t turn back to him, you just call loudly over your shoulder, “Just stay out of this!” with your voice all cracked and broken and the sound of it makes pain shoot up like fireworks inside Mycroft’s chest. Then you stride off with your head bowed and more tears rolling down your face. 

 

And as Mycroft stares after you forlornly he wants to run after you and tell you that he’s not just going to leave it be and that he’s _damn_ well going to be there for you whether you like it or not. But he knows that doing that and saying those things will only make you angrier with him. So instead he marches back to the house, whilst the image of the bruise on your arm burns in his mind and he feels both angry with himself and scared for you all at once.

 

Then when he finally arrives back he strides through to the dining room. And it comes as rather an unexpected relief to see Sherlock there, on his laptop, as he sits by the table. 

 

So when his brother looks up at him as he enters Mycroft asks, “Is anyone else in?” and Sherlock shakes his head. 

 

But Mycroft, not willing to take any chances, goes to double-check everywhere just in case.

 

So Sherlock calls after him, “There’s no one here!” with frustration in his tone, and he’s wearing a frown on his face as Mycroft returns to the dining room. 

 

And, “I need to talk to you about F/N,” Mycroft begins to explain. 

 

But, “Oh God, if you've had a dream about her and you’re trying to figure out what it means then I _really_ don’t”- Sherlock begins now with a horrified expression on his face. 

 

Yet, “She’s got a bruise on her arm,” Mycroft interrupts softly, and then as his brother’s gaze turns to become more serious he adds quietly, “And though she never directly confirmed as much I think, no I _know_ ,” he corrects himself now, “That Moriarty’s been raping her,” and as he says it out loud the reality of it all hits him a second time in a wave and a tight ball of emotion settles in his throat, whilst a cold kind of rage fills him. 

 

Then a little breath escapes Sherlock’s mouth as he struggles to think of the same woman whom he’d asked to be a house mate and who had run after him with a yell, before she’d then proceeded to make fun of him for calling himself _‘Captain Holmes,’_ being subjected to such a thing. But then when he asks, “And what do you want me to do about it?” his tone is perfectly even. 

 

And Mycroft runs a hand through his hair now, his whole body and mind thrumming with it all. Then as his hand goes back to his side he says, “Help me to find out the truth,” and Sherlock looks at him, so he goes on with frustration in his tone, “Something happened between F/N and Moriarty, before they ever came to this place, I don’t know what, but it must be something big”-

 

So, “Have you ever tried to ask her about it?” Sherlock asks, though he feels sure already that he knows what the answer will be.

 

And, “Yes,” Mycroft gets out, before, “She won’t let me in,” he admits reluctantly. 

 

So Sherlock takes him in once more. Takes in the frustration in those blue eyes, the anxiety in those slightly parted lips and the general strain that’s underlying the entirety of Mycroft’s face. Then, “Fine,” he breathes, and when Mycroft lets out a little breath of relief he goes on, “In any case you’re not the only one who’s come to think that something must have happened between F/N and Moriarty. I've been having similar thoughts myself for a while,” and then as his gaze turns to his laptop he goes on, “We can start off by doing a general search on her, that might yield something,” so, feeling grateful for his brother’s help, Mycroft comes to sit beside him. 

 

Then Sherlock opens up Internet Explorer and types your name into Google and both of their eyes scan down the search results page desperately, before, “There,” Mycroft breathes, “What about that?” and he leans up slightly out of his chair as his finger points to the fourth result down now. 

 

So Sherlock clicks on it and they face another brief impatient wait, before it takes them through to a newspaper article about none other than Carl Powers’s death. And Sherlock’s eyes flicker with recognition now, whilst Mycroft’s brow furrows and he purses his lips slightly. Then, “Carl Powers? Wasn't that, that boy you thought”-

 

“I thought had been murdered yes,” Sherlock cuts in.

 

So, “Remind me of why you thought Carl’s death was suspicious, again?” Mycroft says. 

 

And, “Well, because after Carl died his trainers were missing,” Sherlock begins a little impatiently because he wants to read the article, before as Mycroft looks at him steadily he goes on, “If it had been an accident like everyone thinks then why would someone have taken them?” 

 

Yet, “They could have been stolen or someone could have mistakenly taken them thinking that they were their own, and then when Carl died and they realized their mistake they could have just thrown them away because they didn't want to be implicated in things,” Mycroft says reasonably. 

 

But Sherlock looks dubious and Mycroft doesn't feel exactly convinced by his own words either, so both of their attentions now turn to the article to see where you fit into all this. 

 

And just a bit further down when they see a photograph of Carl amongst the other competitors of the same school whom were competing on the same day that Carl died, they get their answer. For there you are, wearing a black swimming costume and a white towel over your shoulders as you stand just to the left of Carl. Your damp hair is scraped back into a ponytail; your eyes are sparkling, whilst your lips are slightly parted.

 

And, “They were in the same swimming team,” Sherlock breathes, whilst his mind already begins to work at slotting this new piece of information into this puzzle. 

 

Then, “So it seems,” Mycroft says as he tugs his eyes from you now and leans back. 

 

And, “Do you think she knows something about what happened with Carl and he’s blackmailing her?” Sherlock asks as he looks away from the screen and at Mycroft now. 

 

Yet a moment later at the ping of a new e-mail coming through Sherlock looks back at the screen and frowns. Then he clicks through to it and sees that it is from an e-mail address that he doesn't recognize, before he reads: _Ding! Ding! Nice work boys. Though considering you’re both supposed to be two of the brightest students in your respective subjects it took you an awfully long time to figure that out. Weren't busy getting distracted by emotions and love were you?_ -And Sherlock scowls, whilst Mycroft’s lips tighten- _But no matter, for as it turns out you've still got a long way to go, before the whole truth is revealed._

 

And, _“How?”_ \- Sherlock begins, before Mycroft shushes him and jumps up, whilst his eyes go around the room suspiciously. 

 

Then he darts around the room, slipping his fingers into any cracks as he does so, whilst his eyes search, search, search, before finally he breathes, _“Ah.”_ And then he pulls out a small device that had been placed discreetly behind an ornament on the small bookshelf, before he says more to himself than to Sherlock, “I did wonder, after some remark that he made to me before.” Then he shows it to Sherlock grimly, before he crushes it in his palm and throws it on the floor hard and steps on it. And as he does so he pretends that it’s Moriarty’s head that he’s crushing and the thought makes him feel momentarily better by a fraction. 

 

But, “Do you think there’s any more?” Sherlock asks as Mycroft picks up the broken device and peers at it.

 

So, “I’d say it’s likely,” Mycroft replies, and satisfied that he’s done a good enough job on the bug, he goes across and puts it in the bin, before he closes the lid over it in relish. 

 

Then Sherlock closes down his laptop and their conversation ceases as they both go into their thoughts, not that there is much more that can be said at this point at any rate, not until they find out more information…

 

Still, even though there’s little that Mycroft can do in the way of gathering more information in between his lectures that day, that doesn't stop his mind from thinking of little else all day long. 

 

And that evening, instead of returning to the house for dinner, he goes to the library, which he knows, after the day you've had, is the most likely place that you’ll be. 

 

He picks correctly, and as soon as he sees you staring off vaguely into a textbook as you sit by one of the tables he makes his way over to you immediately. 

 

You see him coming this time and when you catch sight of the slightly uncertain look on his face as he no doubt re-calls your last words to him as he stops before you, you ask as jokingly as you can, “How did you _ever_ guess that I’d be here?” with a little shrug. 

 

So feeling both encouraged and relieved by your reaction he draws back a seat, before he sits down opposite you. 

 

Then, “I'm sorry about earlier,” you tell him as he looks at you and he nods. But still even though you can’t tell him the truth you feel like you need to say something more to _really_ try and get across that you do appreciate him so, “I-I know you were only trying to help”- you begin. 

 

And, “That’s all I've ever wanted to do,” Mycroft interrupts you smoothly now. 

 

So you nod falteringly, not knowing what to make of his words, as a light blush crosses your face and he smiles tentatively at you. 

 

But before things can develop any further Moriarty comes out from where he’s been hiding behind the closest bookshelf and comes to your side. 

 

And your body tenses up at once, whilst Mycroft fights back the urge to do or say anything. For Moriarty knows that he and Sherlock are investigating him as it is, and with him also having the upper hand over them, Mycroft, as much as he hates the fact, knows that a more careful approach will be crucial from this point forwards if they are to outsmart him. 

 

Then, “Hi babe,” Moriarty drawls out as his hand goes down to play with your hair, so Mycroft’s hands fist upon his lap, whilst he bites down hard on his bottom lip to stop himself from telling Moriarty to get the hell away from you. Yet you shift away from Moriarty instinctively yourself as you clear your throat, before you look at him. Then, “I thought we could do something together tonight if you’re not busy,” Moriarty goes on, and he casts Mycroft a look now, before his gaze goes back to you as he says, “And by the looks of it you’re _not_ , so…” and Mycroft _really_ has to hold himself back from saying anything now. 

 

Yet, “Fine,” you breathe, hating both Moriarty and yourself for being so weak that you don’t see that you have any choice but to go along with it. And Mycroft feels frustrated with the whole situation, unhappy and concerned for you all at the same time. Yet whilst he’d dearly love nothing more than to stop you from going off with Moriarty right now, he knows that to do such a thing, before he and Sherlock have found out information that might help get Moriarty out of your life all together would be reckless and might put you in even more danger. So instead he just tries to think of how, now that Sherlock’s on the case, it shouldn't be long before Moriarty’s out of your life altogether, and how times like this therefore where he has to keep his mouth tightly shut as you pack up your things and go off with Moriarty will surely not amount to many occasions. 

 

But, “See you later?” you say to Mycroft, and though you attempt to say it in the most cheery tone you can muster he can see the misery behind your eyes and you can’t know how much, despite all his attempts at looking for the positives, he hates himself in that moment for just letting you go off with Moriarty. 

 

Then so as you walk off with Moriarty, Mycroft stands up and goes across to the window and he watches as Moriarty’s hand goes around your waist, before it slides lower. And whilst a small growl escapes him he feels both worried and pleased when you shrug it off you. But Moriarty’s not done playing with either of you yet, and he stops you just at the point before you’d both disappear from the sight of the library, before he wraps his arms around you and plants a long, lingering kiss against your tightly shut lips. And Mycroft’s heart writhes with anxiety in his chest for you as he watches your whole body tense up and your hands push against Moriarty’s chest to no avail. Then Moriarty pulls away and you begin to walk away once more, but Moriarty casts a sly look at Mycroft over his shoulder, before he follows you and Mycroft’s fists clench, whilst his lips go the thinnest they can go and a surge of anger burns inside him. And _somehow_ , he vows, he’ll find the information that he needs to stop all this and wipe that smirk off Moriarty’s face. 

 

*

 

That night Mycroft can’t sleep. It’s one o' clock in the morning and he heard you come back two hours ago. But you went straight to your room. So even though he went out of his own room he didn't see you, and thinking by your actions that you probably wanted some space he hadn't gone up to try and talk to you. But that’s not quite the truth either he realizes now, for even after he’d seen the bruise on your arm, and even after it had become more than obvious that Moriarty’s raping you and he’d known that he’d been too inactive and hated himself for being such a thing, even after _all_ of that he’d still preferred to take the cowardly route by trying to avoid the truth of what’s going on as much as possible. But that’s not being there for you, he thinks. And that’s not him helping you or being the person that he really wants to be for you, that’s just him letting you down again, and he huffs out a breath now at such a realisation. Then, feeling most fed up with himself, he gets out of bed robotic ally, before he pulls on some trousers and the shirt he wore that day, which he buttons up clumsily. 

 

And then he leaves his room and creeps out of the dining room and towards the stairs in darkness, before he begins to make the ascent. 

 

Then he goes across to stand outside your room and he presses an ear to the door as he does so, so that he might listen to any noises that are coming from inside. And as he does so he hopes fervently that all he’ll hear are your soft breaths, which will tell him that you’re asleep and hopefully safe in your dreams. But instead he hears the choked sound as you try and repress your sobs and so his heart sinks, before he instinctively pushes the door open even though he’s afraid of what he might see when he does, because he’s _not_ going to be a coward now. He’s going to be there for you. 

 

And the sound of your sobs abates suddenly as he enters and then you make a sort of hiccuping noise, before you roll around and sit up slightly as you squint in the darkness towards him. 

 

Then his eyes take a moment to pick you out, before, “F/N?” he calls out to you in a low, hesitant murmur, “It’s Mycroft.”

 

So, “I-I'm fine,” you say defensively as you swipe a hand across your face pathetically. 

 

But, “No you’re not,” he says knowingly, before, “Put your dressing gown on and come with me,” he orders you with a firm kind of gentleness. 

 

And so you sniff a little, before you clamber out of bed, slip your dressing gown on and follow him downstairs. 

 

Then he guides you to the living room and gestures for you to sit down. And after you do so he looks at you and takes in your tear-stained face and how cold and shivery you look for a moment. Then he tells you, “I’ll make us a drink, wait here,” and he waits for you to nod, even though it is with averted eyes, before he makes to leave for the kitchen. 

 

And once he’s gone you draw your knees up to your chest and hold them there with your arms, whilst you wish that you didn't both look and feel such a mess. But then the other thoughts start. The thoughts that tell you that you’re weak, the thoughts that tell you that if you were stronger then perhaps you’d be able to stop all this by yourself and you wouldn't need Mycroft running around after you because in that version of this story you wouldn't be such a damsel in distress. And you wouldn't need rescuing because you’d be able to rescue yourself. The thoughts that tell you that you might as well squash any faint hope that you have inside yourself of ever getting together romantically with Mycroft because even if he once thought he did there’s no way that he’ll ever want you after seeing you in such a mess. And the thoughts that tell you that perhaps you’re not a damsel in distress after all, that perhaps you’re not trying enough to stop such things from happening to you because you _know_ that you deserve them. That you _know_ that they’re a fitting punishment for what you've done. 

 

So it’s a relief, with all these thoughts making a mess of your mind, when Mycroft doesn't leave you alone for long and returns just a few minutes later with two full cups of hot chocolate in his hands. And you notice, with a watery kind of smile, that he’s even added pink and white marshmallows to yours. 

 

Then he lays them down carefully on top of two coasters on the coffee table, before he comes to sit beside you tentatively. 

 

So, “Thank you,” you tell him, whilst you feel determined not to become even more of a mess in front of him. 

 

But, “Did he hurt you tonight?” he asks as he turns to look at you now, and as you look at him he looks as if he’s bracing himself for the answer. And it’s true that he is, but then again it’s also true that he’d rather push himself to be brave right now then face letting you down again. 

 

So, “No,” you get out, but then you can feel the tears starting to come once more so you hurriedly grab your cup and pull it towards you, before you take a few sips of it. And it’s wonderful but it’s no good, it doesn't quell the emotion that’s inside you. So when you feel your lips beginning to tremble you place the cup back on the table once more, before you lean back a little and swipe at your eyes. Then, “It’s just every time he touches me or looks at me my skin crawls,” you try to explain as you wipe away your tears. And such words just make Mycroft feel even worse and even more helpless because he _doesn't_ know how to make it any better. For he can’t tell you about Sherlock and his investigations because he knows that, that would upset you and further damage the pride that he can see you desperately trying to cling on to. But in the long run it would also give you hope too, and even though Mycroft would love to give you such a thing right now he knows that there’s nothing that could be any more dangerous. For if Moriarty were to see that you have such a thing then Mycroft’s sure that he would only try to break your spirit even further and that his behaviour towards you would only become even crueller. So he tries desperately to think of anything that he _can_ say that could make you feel momentarily better. But before he can come up with such a thing you state, “Nowhere feels like home any more”-

 

Yet, “Brighton?” Mycroft asks questioningly, whilst he feels even more worried about you. 

 

But, “Brighton’s never felt like home,” you say dismissively as you shake your head at him. 

 

“But your parents”- Mycroft begins. 

 

And you can’t bear it any more so you blurt out, “My parents are dead,” in one breath, and he stares at you with his face shocked, before a sort of resignation that what with all the lies you've already told him he really should have known takes over it. Then you swipe your nose a bit with the back of your hand as you turn your head partly away from him and say, “They died in a car crash nearly two years ago. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but I just couldn't…”

 

Still, “I wish you’d just told me F/N,” Mycroft says quietly now, just like he wishes that you’d be honest with him about everything you seem determined to hide from him and let him in, but more than that let him _help_ you. 

 

And you just nod, for there’s nothing to say to that, before you reach for your drink again, and as you drink a little more of it you feel a bit stronger from doing so this time. Then, “He’s taking everything from me,” you breathe as you move your head a little away from the rim of the cup, before you look at Mycroft as you continue, “I probably won’t be able to go back to Brighton now after what happened with Rufus, at least not for a while. Not that I want too really but…it’s where my parents are buried y’know? And this place…it felt like home, it really did, but now everyone hates me it’s beginning not to”-

 

Yet, “I don’t hate you,” Mycroft interrupts you fervently now. For he might not be able to do much but if he can make you feel even a little bit better then he’s damn well going to do it. 

 

But as you make to put your cup back on the coffee table once more you let out a little disparaging snort, before, “You’re the only one who doesn't,” you tell him. 

 

So, “No I'm not,” Mycroft says, and you look at him, before he goes on, “Sherlock doesn't, and John has no reason to.”

 

And you smile a little bit in spite of yourself now, before you sniff, “Well that’s okay then if _three_ people are on my side,” and then instinctively you shift a little closer to him, before you drop your head down to rest on his arm because you know that you can’t start a romantic relationship with him now but you can at least do this. 

 

And his eyes go wide as he freezes up for a moment. But then his face softens as he looks down at you so carefully he moves slightly to put his arm around you and as your head goes to rest on his chest instead you shift even closer to him. Then for a moment both of you just allow your bodies to relax into this new yet comfortable position, before slowly he begins to stroke your hair soothingly with his fingers. And then you make a satisfied noise in your throat, before one of your hands moves up to clutch at his shirt. 

 

And he doesn't know how long you both stay like that. All he knows is that he wishes that he could just put a bubble around the pair of you and the settee so that you could stay like that forever and Moriarty could never hurt you again. But time, as is its habit, continues to pass. And slowly as your tears stop and you grow even more tired you slip further down his body until your head is snuggled on top of your hands on his lap and so his hand stops moving through your hair to curl around your shoulders instead, before he watches as your breathing grows more even and you fall asleep. Then, feeling satisfied that Moriarty won’t be able to hurt you for the rest of tonight, he tilts his head back onto the settee and closes his eyes. 

 

*

 

You wake slowly, your hands opening and closing as you do so, and when they come into contact with the smooth and slightly rustling fabric beneath them that you know is not your bed your eyes flutter open. And the first thing you see is a pair of knees so your head jerks upwards in confusion, and then when your hands grab onto the pair of firm thighs as you do so you sit up with a start, before you exclaim, _“Mycroft!”_ in surprise. 

 

And his head jerks forwards now at your voice, before his eyes open smoothly and then, “F/N,” he breathes, still in a sleepy haze, and a little smile forms on his face for he thinks that this is part of his dream. Then he realizes with a jolt a moment later that it isn't and so, _“F/N,”_ he repeats again more alertly this time with wide eyes, before he shifts a little away from you and then swallows. 

 

So, “We must have fallen asleep,” you say awkwardly now, shifting a little away from him yourself and tugging your dressing gown around you more securely. 

 

And, “Yes, we must have,” Mycroft concurs, before he begins to rub at his slightly stiff neck with his hand rather than look at you. 

 

And you fiddle with your dressing gown for another moment, whilst he moves his hand up to run through his hair and prays that his heart will beat more evenly soon, before he swallows and gets up because having your body so close to his still is _really_ not helping. Then he smoothes his shirt down and re-buttons a couple of the buttons that must have come undone in the night, before he swallows again and then turns back to you. So you look at him and then keeping his eyes on your face he offers you his hand. And when you take it the touch between you is so gentle that it makes both of your breaths hitch in your chest. Then as soon as you stand up you let go of his hand and run an awkward hand through your hair as you say, “Thanks,” as your eyes flick up to him quickly, before they flick away again. 

 

So, “What for?” he asks without being able to help himself as his heart skips a beat in his chest.

 

And you look up at him as your hands fidget a little. Then, “Last night,” you tell him softly. 

 

And the corner of his mouth quirks upwards now as you smile more strongly at him. Then, once he realizes that you’re both just staring at each other again he clears his throat and waves his hand as he says, “We should probably get some breakfast.”

 

So, _“Yes,”_ you exclaim loudly, before, “Yes, we probably should,” you say a little more quietly, and then you both smile at each other a little awkwardly again, before he gestures for you to lead the way. 

 

And both of your hearts pump loudly in the short distance from the living room to the dining room, whilst you hope that neither Molly nor Greg will be there. For you can’t imagine what they’ll think if they see you in your dressing gown and Mycroft, all rumpled, close behind you as he comes from a direction that most _definitely_ isn't his bedroom. Well, actually, you _can_ sort of imagine what Molly would think. For she’d probably think that you’re a man-eater. And you swallow now as you take the last step into the dining room. But thankfully Molly and Greg aren't there. 

 

Sherlock is though. And he looks up and takes you both in, before he sends you both a knowing look that makes you blush and Mycroft clear his throat a little. Then as you both take your usual seats Sherlock says casually, “It’s a shame you woke up. I was just about to call John and get him to come over to see the show,” and as you swallow and look embarrassed Mycroft sends his brother a warning look. 

 

Then, “Are the others up yet?” Mycroft asks, and you know what he’s worried about. 

 

So, “No,” Sherlock tells him curtly. 

 

And, “Good,” Mycroft replies as he butters his toast, and it’s then that you have a sudden moment of doubt. For what if he hadn't indirectly asked whether the others had seen you in an attempt to make sure that things don’t get even worse between you all, but rather because he’s embarrassed about what had happened and doesn't want everyone to know about it? And your heart sinks. 

 

Mycroft catches the expression on your face when he’s pushing the butter away, and he wonders whether now you've had a chance to think about it you regret last night. For he knows that he probably should as spending the night with you on the settee when he’s got more than feelings of friendship for you and you at the very least have feelings of curiosity towards him wasn't probably the wisest move for either of you considering everything that’s going on. But oddly enough, even knowing that, he can’t regret doing such a thing because it had been completely innocent, not to mention nice that he knew in that moment he was doing something good for you by comforting you. And for a moment at that thought he smiles. But then it occurs to him that you might not even be sparing what happened last night a thought, let alone regretting it. For it’s not like you don’t have enough to be thinking about after all. And his heart sinks. 

 

For Sherlock though as he looks between you both it’s like a game of emotional tennis. Or like you’re both trying to mirror each other’s expressions. For just after your face becomes rather miserable a moment later his brother’s does. And he rolls his eyes at the pair of you now and then he almost says something, but then the thought of how he’s not exactly much better with John than Mycroft is with you comes to him so he remains in a brooding sort of silence instead. 

 

* 

 

The night that follows is such a contrast to the previous one that it’s hard to believe the world where you can snuggle up and fall asleep against Mycroft Holmes is the same reality as this one. 

 

For, “Let’s try something different tonight,” Moriarty says as he slides his naked body on top of yours once more. And then when you do nothing more visually than frown and narrow your eyes at him, though on the inside your heart begins to increase its pace and your mind begins to panic he goes on, “I'm going to do my usual thing and be my usual hot self, but this time, I want you to _come_ too.” And you swallow now and open your mouth to protest, but before you can he yanks your head back by the hair and so you let out a little gasp of pain. Then, “I don’t care how you do it, I just want you to. Is that clear?” he asks, and feeling scared now you nod so, “Good,” Moriarty says, looking happier once more and then he shifts his position and makes sure that the condom is secure on him, before he pushes inside you. 

 

But as he grunts and quickly increases his pace your skin crawls and you feel sick, not turned on, and you can’t even imagine becoming so whilst he’s thrusting in and out of you. So you start to hope that maybe once he’s come himself he’ll forget his earlier words and that’ll be that. 

 

But then he slows down his pace to prevent himself from climaxing, before he croons into your ear, “F/N, honey, you’re not doing what I want you to.” And then when you just stare at him with a mixture of apprehension and hatred on your face his hand crawls across your shoulder, before he reminds you, “I don’t care how you do it baby, remember? That means you can even think of _glorious_ old Mycroft if you want to,” and then, “Hmm,” he ponders now, “What would Mycroft call you if you went out with him d’you think?” And though he’s still inside you he’s perfectly still on top of you now. Then, “Not babe,” he concludes, “He’d never call you that, he’s _far_ too old-fashioned for such a thing, and I can’t see him calling you honey either,” and then he thinks some more, before his eyes gleam as he says, “ ‘My dear’ perhaps.” And then he brings his mouth to your ear once more as he asks, “Would that turn you on F/N? If you closed your eyes and pictured Mycroft’s mouth by your ear whispering that to you instead of me?” and you swallow now as you glare at him. For he’s ruined so much already and you’re adamant that he’s not going to ruin Mycroft too. 

 

But, “Let’s try again then,” Moriarty says and his hands go to your breasts, and then he runs them around each one, before he lets go and then sits up so that he’s straddled upon your waist. Then, “Touch yourself,” he commands, and a little, fluttery breath escapes your lips as your eyes look at him apprehensively so, “Touch yourself,” he repeats impatiently, before seeing that you’re not going to, he grabs at your hands and pushes them upon your breasts and you cry out in pain. And he moves his hands over yours to get you to caress your breasts, before, “Close your eyes,” he says, and then when you shake your head as a little whimper escapes your lips he orders, “Close them,” more firmly so you screw your eyes shut reluctantly. 

 

Then, “It’s Mycroft F/N,” he says as he lies over you once more and begins to thrust slowly in and out of you again. “Mycroft’s hands are on your breasts and he’s making love to you.”

 

But even with your eyes closed you still can’t pretend that it’s Mycroft there. For Moriarty’s hands may be smoother than Rufus’s were but they’re still not Mycroft’s, and your body is hypersensitive to the fact that it’s Moriarty there anyway. So as he increases his pace you don’t even become close to being aroused. But Moriarty doesn't slow down this time though, he just carries on thrusting, and when he finally comes with a gasp you let out a little breath of relief. For at least tonight’s pain must be over with.

 

But when Moriarty slides out of you he looks at you with disappointment in his eyes, before he simply changes the condom and rubs himself hard again. Then, whilst his eyes gleam as they look at you he says, “No rush, I can just keep going all night, and that’s exactly what I intend to do until you do as I want.”

 

And it takes two more turns, before with tears rolling down your face and your whole body sore and crawling with agony you can’t take any more and so succumb to doing what he wants. And so you touch yourself, feeling sick as you do so and screw your eyes shut as you think of Mycroft. Mycroft offering you his coat. Mycroft staring at you that fireworks night. Mycroft being sweet and offering to tutor you. Mycroft so close to you as he slips on the necklace, and you can feel yourself starting to get warmer now. Mycroft drying your hair with a towel. Mycroft’s lips almost on yours and you let out a little moan now and Moriarty lets out a grunt of approval as his hand goes to run through your hair, whilst he thrusts in and out of you. But your real memories of Mycroft aren't enough so you’re forced to turn to fantasy. And so you think of Mycroft’s eyes on yours, before he kisses you. Mycroft’s hands all over your body as he makes you forget about everything that’s happened and you touch yourself more frantically now, whilst little breaths leave your mouth. Then Mycroft on top of you. Mycroft inside you. Mycroft being the only thing that you can smell and feel. Mycroft surrounding you so completely with his love. And your face scrunches up, sweat glistening on your brow, whilst your hands still as you finally come with a gasp, before your eyes flick open. Yet Mycroft’s face is torn from your mind as you see Moriarty in front of you staring at you with a smirk of satisfaction on his face. And so feeling sick you shove against him, and to your surprise he lets you leave the bed and then your bedroom as you race to the bathroom. 

 

But after the first initial bout of vomit you’re just left just dry-heaving in between sobbing. Not only because of the physical side of what has just happened but because of the mental one too. For it now feels like every memory of Mycroft that you've ever had and every one of him that you've ever hoped for has been tainted and once more you hate yourself. For surely you could have not succumbed? Surely you could have found a way not to ruin everything? And feeling dirty and cold now you go to take the warmest shower that you can. But though you scrub and scrub until your skin is shiny and raw it’s like everything that’s happened is still there and none of it makes any difference. So you end up crying out in frustration. Then you turn the shower off angrily and slide down the wall where you sob amongst the small pool of water that’s at your feet.

 

And you don’t know how long you've been there. It’s definitely been more than an hour, but you’re not sure if it’s _hours_ when there comes a small knock on the door and your heart slams against your chest as your head jerks up. 

 

“Then, “F/N?” a voice calls out, _Sherlock’s_ voice, not Moriarty’s, and you want to cry out in relief. 

 

But instead you get up and wander across cautiously to the door, before you ask softly, “Yes?” 

 

And there’s a slight pause, before, “Can you come out?” he asks. 

 

Yet, “I don’t have any clothes,” you tell him quietly in barely more than a whisper, whilst you feel ashamed of yourself. 

 

But he surprises you by replying, “Then I’ll fetch some. Just wait there, all right?” 

 

And for a moment you just want to laugh in spite of yourself because _how_ can he really think that you’d go anywhere else? But in the end you just breathe, “Okay,” before you listen as his soft footsteps move away from you again. 

 

Then when Sherlock pushes open your bedroom door and steps inside cautiously the first thing he sees is Moriarty, still shamelessly naked, as he lies on top of the duvet. And the sight makes him stop dead, before he says venomously, “You know, I've met some pretty _loathsome_ , disgusting people in my time, but you really take the crown.”

 

So Moriarty looks up now, before, “Oh, hello,” he says. And then he sits up leisurely and blinks slowly a couple of times as he looks at Sherlock like a lizard taking in its new surroundings. Then, “Yes I suppose I do,” he muses, before at Sherlock’s narrowed eyes he explains, “Take the crown I mean,” and a muscle twitches in Sherlock’s jaw. 

 

Then, “I've come to get F/N some clothes,” he announces.

 

And, “Well, don’t let me keep you,” Moriarty says as he waves an arm now and stretches out more on the bed. 

 

So Sherlock goes across to your wardrobe, before his eyes skim across the selection, whilst he thinks that he’ll get you some clothes for tomorrow as well as pyjamas for right now. And so his hand reaches to take a top out, but then a voice says right by his ear, “Though saying that it would be a shame to waste this opportunity to have a little chat, don’t you think?” and Sherlock’s hand lowers, before he turns around slowly and Moriarty steps back. Then, “I'm such a _big_ fan after all,” Moriarty says as he waves a hand, and Sherlock doesn't need to look to know that a certain part of Moriarty’s body has gone hard again. 

 

Yet, “What makes you my fan?” Sherlock asks coolly. 

 

So, “Well, the way you’re such a little detective obviously,” Moriarty says as if such a thing should be apparent, before he jumps backwards so that he’s sitting on the bed again. Then, “How’s the latest case going by the way? Any more clever leads?” he asks.

 

But, “What makes you think I’d tell you?” Sherlock asks him. 

 

So Moriarty hunches his shoulders up a little, before, “Aww, don’t be like that,” he says. Then, “I bet you've been ringing around my old school haven’t you? Trying to find out more about the swimming team and little Carl, trying to work out what _F/N_ knows…” he says in a teasing voice that makes Sherlock’s eyes turn even colder. For he _has_ been trying to ask around, but to no avail, though he’s damned sure that he’s not going to let Moriarty know that. 

 

So instead, “Are you going to stay here all night?” Sherlock asks now. 

 

And, “Yep,” Moriarty says as he spreads both his arms and legs wide. Then, “I'm here all night honey,” he says, before he adds with a little wink, “If you want to try out the goods?”

 

And Sherlock’s lip twitches now, then, “No thank you,” he says curtly, before he turns back to the wardrobe. 

 

But, “Shame,” Moriarty says languidly and Sherlock’s hand falters again, before he looks at him even though he knows he shouldn't. So, “It’s not like you’re getting any action elsewhere is it?” Moriarty asks, before he comments, “Even your dear brother got more action when he saw F/N in the shower. Naughty boy.”

 

And Sherlock’s lip curls now, before he says, “Yes, I meant to congratulate you on your little bug. Quite ingenious,” and then he asks offhandedly as he looks away, “When did you plant it?” 

 

But, “As if I'm going to tell you that,” Moriarty scoffs now.

 

Yet, “Worth a try,” Sherlock says with a small smile as he pulls some clothes out for you and finally makes to turn away. 

 

But, “You forgot her underwear,” Moriarty drawls and then when Sherlock tenses up he says, “Top drawer to the right,” before as Sherlock opens the drawer and crinkles up his nose he muses, “It’s probably the closest that you’ll get to touching anyone’s underwear any time soon so you might want to make the most of it.” And so Sherlock bites down on his lip even harder as he whips out a bra and knickers and adds them to the pile. 

 

But before he can straighten up once more Moriarty folds one leg over the other, before he uncrosses them again as he says slyly, “But it isn't women’s underwear that you _really_ want to be touching is it?” and Sherlock bites down even harder on his lip. Then Moriarty wonders, “What underwear do you suppose John wears? Boxers or briefs? I'm a boxers man myself, but I think John seems more like a briefs guy, don’t you?” and Sherlock’s jaw clenches, before he straightens up and turns to face Moriarty with a thin-lipped smile on his face. 

 

Then, “It’s of no interest to me either way,” he says, before he makes to leave the room. 

 

But, “I'm sure,” Moriarty says with amusement in his tone as Sherlock opens the door slightly. Then as Sherlock sweeps out of the room and strides back down towards the bathroom Moriarty smiles after him. 

 

And, “F/N?” Sherlock calls once he’s finally standing outside the bathroom door once more. 

 

So, “What took you so long?” you hiss, as you stand freezing cold and still slightly damp on the other side of the door. 

 

Yet, “I can take your clothes back if you don’t want them,” Sherlock growls. And so after you let out a little huff you open the door just a crack and thrust your arm through it, your fingers wriggling about in a gesture to tell him to pass your clothes to you. So he passes your pyjamas and knickers to you and you flush furiously and feel even more ashamed at the thought of him picking out your underwear. 

 

But the thought that it must have not exactly been a pleasant experience for him to have to do such a thing either occurs to you, and you suddenly feel bad for sounding ungrateful to him earlier, so, “Thank you,” you tell him. 

 

And, “It’s fine,” he tells you shortly, sounding embarrassed about it all himself, before, “Get dressed,” he says. 

 

And so you hurry into your clothes, before you tug the door open. Then he takes in your shiny eyes and blotchy, tear-stained face, whilst you take in his grey t-shirt and stripy white and blue pyjama bottoms and the fact that he’s still holding a pile of your clothes. Then he passes them to you, before he says, “You’re not going back there tonight. Come with me,” and gestures for you to walk alongside him

 

So you falter only momentarily, before you follow him downstairs instead. And as you do so he turns his head every now and again to check that you’re still safely behind him, and you can’t help but feel grateful for him each time he does so. For he may be a pirate obsessed nerd but in that moment he feels like a brother to you. 

 

And when you get downstairs he takes you into the dining room, before he goes across and enters his brother’s room without any hesitation. But you can’t do so, so easily. For you don’t want Mycroft to see you like this as he worries enough as it is. Not to mention the fact that you feel scared that you won’t ever be able to do anything with him ever again without thinking of what Moriarty made you do just now. And you can’t bear to have the realization that Moriarty’s ruined Mycroft for you on top of everything else that has happened already tonight. For you don’t think you could cope with such a reality right now. But Sherlock’s disappeared inside and you don’t want to be on your own so you take a little breath and then go inside. 

 

And the first thing you see is Sherlock shaking his brother’s shoulder as he mutters, “Mycroft? Come on, wake up,” but Mycroft seems intent on sleep, and so with his face turned towards Sherlock, he just buries deeper into his pillow, whilst a little groan leaves his lips and he makes a swatting gesture with his hand. Then Sherlock leans even closer to his brother, before he hisses, “Mycroft it’s F/N! F/N’s here!” in a voice like you’d use when you want a dog to fetch something, and Mycroft’s eyes flick suddenly open. So Sherlock lets go of him and steps back a little to give his brother some room to wake up. 

 

And for a moment Mycroft just feels all groggy and he can’t understand why his light is on. But then he catches sight of his brother and so, “Sherlock,” he utters, before he wipes the sleep from his face and sits up. Then, “What is it? Has something happened?” he asks, before his face pales as he catches sight of you standing meekly by the door with your head bowed slightly. And then, without waiting for his brother’s answer he pushes the duvet back and gets out of bed, before he breathes, _“F/N.”_ Then as you look up at him his breath catches in his chest at the sight of you, for you look so… _broken_ . And he feels mad with himself in that moment. Mad that he’s become the type of person who has to risk the health of someone he loves just because the timing isn't right to confront Moriarty yet. Mad for playing the exact game that Moriarty wants him to play by letting him just do whatever the hell he likes with you. Mad at himself for being so logical and so disgustingly sensible when what he should really be doing is marching up to your room right now and confronting Moriarty. Mad that he can’t help you after all because Moriarty’s trapped him as much as he’s trapped you. And mad that he can’t be more of the man that he thinks you deserve. 

 

But Sherlock clears his throat and so Mycroft comes out of his thought and looks back at him. Then, “Moriarty’s still upstairs so I thought it would be more beneficial for F/N to stay here tonight with you,” Sherlock says, and your eyes go to him now and you begin to open your mouth in protest.

 

But, “Of course,” Mycroft says smoothly in the calmest voice that he can manage, for he doesn't want to alarm you. So Sherlock nods and makes to leave the room. But Mycroft crosses to meet him by the door, whilst you move further inside. Then, “Thank you,” Mycroft tells Sherlock sincerely and Sherlock can clearly see the gratitude shining in his brother’s eyes. 

 

So, “You’re welcome,” he tells him, before, feeling like he should tell Mycroft more he lowers his voice and says, “I heard her in the bathroom, I don’t know what it’s usually like but she’d gone there without taking any clothes with her,” and Mycroft pales. Then he listens as Sherlock goes on, “I had to fetch her some and I ended up having a little word with Moriarty as I did so”-

 

So, “You _didn't”_ \- Mycroft begins as quietly as he can, but inside he feels alarmed that his brother might have just unintentionally made things worse for you.

 

And, “No,” Sherlock admits, for he hadn't confronted Moriarty about raping you. “But we have to do something more than we are at the moment because he’s…well, there’s no knowing what he’ll do,” Sherlock goes on, struggling to find the words to describe Moriarty as he does so. 

 

And, “I know,” Mycroft breathes heavily, before he reaches up to briefly squeeze his brother’s shoulder reassuringly. 

 

And that startles Sherlock enough to come out of his daze. Then, “Go and do what you do best. Take care of her,” he tells Mycroft gruffly, whilst he nods in your general direction, and Mycroft isn't sure whether he’s really the best at that. For he feels like he’s just let you down again. But he nods anyway and so a moment later Sherlock leaves the room. 

 

Then Mycroft takes a little breath, before he turns back to you to see that you’re standing by the head of his bed with your hands linked together in front of you and an awkward expression on your face. 

 

Yet as soon as you see him looking at you, you blurt out, “You don’t have to really. I can go back to my room.”

 

So, “Don’t be silly. There’s no way I'm letting you go back there,” he tells you, and you swallow now and nod. Then, “You can take my bed,” he tells you with a wave of his hand a moment later, before at your questioning expression he states, “I've got a spare duvet on the shelf above my wardrobe. I’ll be fine on the floor.”

 

Yet, “I can’t just”-

 

But, “ _Yes_ , you can,” Mycroft tells you firmly, closing the argument, before his face softens slightly as he takes you in more. Then, “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. 

 

And though you can hear the slight hopeful edge to his voice you shake your head. 

 

So Mycroft’s shoulders slump a little and he lets out a sigh, before he says, “Okay, well it’s late anyway, so we should probably get some sleep,” and you nod. Then you go across and slip underneath his duvet cautiously as if it’s a Venus fly-trap, before you swallow a little as you lie down on your side, for it’s still warm. 

 

Then you watch as Mycroft reaches up on his tiptoes to try and tug the duvet down, revealing his midriff as he does so and you swallow at the sight of the lightly freckled skin, before a moment later he clears his throat and self-consciously pulls his grey vest back down. Not that it makes much of a difference for his arms and legs are still on show and your eyes can’t help but slide down to the latter of these two now. Then as you feel this physical pull of attraction towards him and as you feel so grateful for him giving up his bed for you so easily you know for sure that Moriarty hasn't ruined him for you. That despite all the darkness that the night has brought you one thing, your feelings for Mycroft, have not been sucked up into it and lost forever. And you feel almost like crying, this time not because of pain, sadness or frustration, but something else, which is more like hope than happiness. But, before you can let out anything more than a little gurgle Mycroft manages to finally wrestle the duvet down. Then he steps back in triumph, only to stub his toe against something a moment later. So he curses, before he can stop himself. Then, again self-consciously, he lets out an apology. 

 

Yet, “It’s all right,” you tell him, for you feel far too grateful for everything that he’s done and everything that he’s doing right at that moment for you to feel the least bit annoyed with him for swearing. 

 

And he gives you a quick, little thankful smile, before he stretches out the duvet on the floor by the side of the bed. Then he looks up at you once more, before, “Lights out?” he asks you. 

 

So, “Lights out,” you agree. 

 

So he goes across to flip the light switch off now, but before he can you call in a wavering voice, “Mycroft?” and so he turns back to you immediately. Then, “Thank you,” you tell him. 

 

And he holds your gaze for a moment now as he smiles a small smile. Then, “You’re most welcome,” he tells you, before he switches the light off. 

 

And then there comes the soft noise of him padding back across towards you, before his feet stumble clumsily onto the duvet. And he nearly falls but thankfully manages to re-gain his balance. Then he crouches down and lies down on one side of it, before he rolls the other side over him and lets out a soft breath, and his back already feels uncomfortable as he does so. But, at the same time, he knows that he’d put up with it a thousand times if it meant keeping you safe. 

 

And that’s exactly how you feel as you close your eyes and breathe in the scent of him that lies in his pillow. 

 

*

 

When you wake in a sleepy haze think you are in your own bed at first. And so you stretch out a cautious hand across, before when it doesn't come into contact with anything you think, despite all the signs of your sore body telling you otherwise, that it must have been a Moriarty free night. But then when your eyes flicker open and you realize that you’re in Mycroft’s room, in Mycroft’s _bed_ , everything comes flooding back to you in a kaleidoscope of images-Moriarty on top of you again poisoning you with his very presence. Moriarty forcing you to touch yourself and you struggling against it all. You succumbing and letting yourself get lost in fantasy, and in the present you blush now. Then Sherlock and finally this. And a breathless little gurgle escapes your mouth now, whilst your body seems to ache even more and you crave some sort of comfort. So you shift across a little. And at first you think that Mycroft must have already got up and left and you feel disappointed. But then you peer over the edge of the side of the bed and there he is, pressed tightly against the bed with his body turned towards you so that he’s the closest he can possibly be to you without sleeping with you, whilst his head rests on top of his hand. And if you lowered your hand you know that you’d be able to touch him and run a hand across his hair and you long to do so now. For he’s one of the only good things that you've got left. So slowly you lower your hand down and then when it’s just an inch or two from his hair it just hovers there for a moment tentatively, before it closes the gap and brushes against his hair. Then you let out a little breath at the soft feel of it, before your fingers begin to work through it gently. And he stirs then so your hand freezes. Yet he only shifts his head a little, snuffles into his hand and wrinkles his nose, before he becomes still once more. So your fingers comb through his hair for a moment more. Then slowly and reluctantly you pull your hand back, before you do a little hop over him and leave for the bathroom and then breakfast. 

 

And when Mycroft wakes a few moments later, despite the fact that his body feels achy from the position he’d ended up sleeping in, he does so with a smile. Then he keeps his eyes closed for a moment as he remembers the dream he had, where you were right beside him and stroking his hair…

 

*

 

You’re eating breakfast by the table by yourself when Mycroft leaves his room and you look at him as he approaches. 

 

Then, “Are you all right?” he asks you as he draws his chair back, before he sits down. 

 

So you nod, before, “What you did last night, it was very”-

 

 _“Dangerous,”_ says a voice, and then a moment later Moriarty bursts into the room so your heartbeat accelerates at once, whilst your body tenses. Then as he strides across to join you both he says with his eyes glittering, “Sneaking F/N away from me like that.”

 

And suddenly you feel like you can’t breathe so you abandon the rest of your breakfast, before you stammer out, “I-I better go”- and Mycroft looks at you in concern. 

 

But, “Yes, yes, okay, I’ll let you runaway _my dear_ , just like I did last night. Just know that you can’t runaway forever,” Moriarty says and your eyes narrow at what he just called you. Then you exchange one last look with Mycroft who nods at you, clearly telling you to leave with his eyes because after what happened last night he doesn't want Moriarty anywhere near you, before you get out of there as fast as you can. 

 

And Mycroft waits for a moment just to make sure that you've gone, before, “Now it’s just us,” he begins conversationally as he puts marmalade on his toast, “Let me ask you something. Have you ever considered what you’d do if I were to report you for raping F/N? Because after what happened last night, let me tell you,” and he looks up at Moriarty now, “I am _this_ close,” and now he gestures a minuscule gap with his fingers, “To doing so, no matter what she thinks of me afterwards.”

 

And, “Raping F/N?” Moriarty says now as his brow furrows and he looks puzzled. Then, “I'm not raping F/N,” he says, whilst he looks around now as he pauses to chew his mouthful. And then after swallowing he says, “If I was why did she enjoy last night so much?”

 

So, “The woman my brother brought to me last night did not look like”- Mycroft begins, before he breaks off when Moriarty stands up. 

 

And then with the slow movements but fixed gaze of a lizard Moriarty creeps around the table, before he comes behind Mycroft and puts his mouth to Mycroft’s ear as he whispers, “You should have seen her come last night. The way her face scrunched up, it was adorable. You would have _loved_ it.” And Mycroft holds on to the knife that’s in his hand even more tightly now. But then, in the next moment, unable to control himself, he slams it down onto his plate. Yet Moriarty just chuckles in amusement and his warm breath tickles against Mycroft’s ear as he does so. Then, “Temper, temper,” Moriarty breathes, before, “Whatever would F/N say if she could see you now?” he asks, and then he smirks, before he goes back around the table. But this time he doesn't sit down. Instead he just remains standing. And then he looks down at Mycroft, before he says slowly, “Oh, and I wouldn't think about reporting me if I were you, because as it happens I _have_ thought about what I’d do if you try to slander my name. And let’s just say that you wouldn't like it but F/N would like it even less.” And then he slips back out of the room and leaves a fuming Mycroft behind. 

 

So unable to report it or convince you to do so yourself since you won’t talk about it with him and finding himself rather at a stalemate as neither he nor Sherlock have been able to discover any more information, Mycroft grows only more frustrated and weary with the whole thing as the next couple of weeks pass by. _Especially_ when he has to watch helplessly as you become even more introverted and withdrawn, whilst the bags underneath your eyes only become more prominent as the pounds slip off you. 

 

Then, just before the Easter holidays, Mycroft and you are both sitting by a table in the library as you study and he knows that he can’t just hope that some progress will be made any longer. For he’s far too aware that enough time has passed as it is and he only has to look at you to see that as much as you've tried to be strong you’re starting to crumble underneath it all. So he pushes his work aside, looks up at you and then despite the fact that he’s reluctant to do so as he knows it will make you angry with him, he asks, “Did you ever know Carl Powers?” for the slim hope that you might finally be honest with him and let him in is all he’s got left right now.

 

And your reaction is immediate. For a gasp escapes your lips, whilst your head jerks up to look at him. Then your mouth opens and closes several times, before you ask, _“Why?”_ in a sharp voice. 

 

And he swallows now. For he knows that he has to be careful since you’re already acting defensively. But he knows too that he has to be honest, for it will only push you away from him if he’s not and he needs to be in a position where he can be there for you right now. So, “Sherlock and I, we wanted to help you if we could”-

 

And, “You looked me up didn't you?”- You begin and you’re angry now. Then you add, “Even after I _told_ you to stay out of it”- 

 

But, “I had no other alternative,” Mycroft begins, before he goes on, “I’d tried to talk to you about it and you wouldn't let me in”-

 

Yet, “That still didn't give you the right to just”-

 

But, “You were on the same swimming team as him weren't you?” Mycroft interrupts you, before you can get into your stride and take against him altogether. 

 

And for a moment you just stare at him, whilst you breathe heavily, before you nod. 

 

Then feeling slightly encouraged but still knowing that he has to be cautious in going forwards Mycroft asks, “Did you know him well?”

 

And you hesitate a moment, before, “Not really no,” you confess. 

 

Yet Mycroft’s too quick to ask, “Did you see anything suspicious on the day he died?”

 

So you snap, “I just saw him drown, all right?” before, “Is that good enough for you?” you ask. And then you gather up all your things and shove them messily back into your bag, before you get up, swing your bag onto your shoulder and make to move away. 

 

But, _“F/N,”_ Mycroft protests as he rises from the table. 

 

So you march up to him crossly. And then as you step in front of him you jab your finger angrily at his chest, before you hiss, “I don’t need you looking into my life and judging me all right? I've got enough people judging me as it is,” and then you make to turn away from him. 

 

Yet a moment later you look back at him because he protests, “I wasn't doing it to judge you. I was doing it because I thought if I knew what had gone on before then I might be able to help you more now”-

 

But, “You can’t help, not with this”- you begin with frustration in your tone. 

 

Yet, “Why can’t you tell me just in case I can? Is it because you think my opinion of you would change if I were to find out what had happened?” Mycroft asks you now, for he’s not going to just let you go so easily. 

 

But, “You’d hate me, you’d never want to talk to me again”- you begin without any hesitation, whilst your eyes shine with emotion, your face flushes and your hair looks dishevelled. 

 

Yet, “Well, I find that hard to believe,” Mycroft huffs out. 

 

But his words only make you angrier so, “You don’t even have _any_ idea of what we’re talking about here,” you say and your voice gets increasingly louder. 

 

“Then _make_ me!” he snaps, and his voice rises above yours now, “Because I'm fed up of not knowing and I'm fed up of not being able to help you!”

 

But, “I _can’t_ ,” you say in a strained voice as tears roll down to stain your cheeks once more. 

 

So, “Why not?” he asks desperately, and though his heart skips a beat at the sight of your tears his eyes are determined and he’s not going to stop now. 

 

Then, “Because I don’t want to lose you,” you admit in a quiet, choked voice. 

 

Yet, _“Why?”_ he asks now, for still he doesn't understand. 

 

But you’re fed up of him asking why and fed up of him pushing you and as something snaps inside you, you find yourself yelling out, “Because you’re the _only_ one that I feel safe with right now!” and then as the expression on his face turns into one of shock and he looks for all the world as if you’d just hit him you hitch your bag more securely onto your shoulder. Then you ask him with your throat tight, “Happy now?” before you turn your back on him. 

 

And Mycroft stands there for another moment after you've gone, feeling dazed. But then as he becomes aware of everyone in the vicinity watching him and how silent the library suddenly is he swallows and makes to sit back down. Yet before he can his phone vibrates in his pocket. So he takes the device out, before he reads the new text message that’s just come through from Sherlock: _Moriarty just sent me this: Oh dear me, you should tell your brother that he’s not going to get much further with F/N fighting with her like that in the library. But, as it happens, I'm feeling generous today. So if you want to make progress on another front with your little investigation then you should really take another look in F/N’s wardrobe. I have a feeling you might like something in there very much indeed._

 

And Mycroft looks up and lets out a little breath. Then he swallows and looks back down at his phone, before he sends Sherlock a text that says: **Meet me back at the house.** And then, after quickly packing up his things, he sweeps out of the library into the early morning sunshine, which is pleasant on his face despite the accompaniment of the breeze alongside it, before he goes back down the hill towards the house where it turns out that his own private hell might be waiting for him.


	7. Ripped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Mycroft and Sherlock make a discovery things come to a head in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, thank you so much for all your support, it is most appreciated! :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

Whilst Mycroft gets further away from you, you make your way through the main campus building and then out again into a small stretch of tarmac and grey sky that leads onto the next building, which is where the first lecture of your day is. 

 

And as you walk towards the brown building with its many windows that you can see files and papers pushed up against you still feel angry with Mycroft and Sherlock for taking it upon themselves to look you up. For they had no right to do that no matter what their intentions had been. But you also feel scared too. For you know that the pair of them will probably carry on trying to look into it no matter how many times you get angry with them. And you can’t bear the thought of looking into Mycroft’s eyes one day and realizing as you do so that he now knows. Can’t bear the idea of the look of disappointment that will surely be on his face, before he’ll turn away from you for good. And you start to panic more now as those thoughts come to you so you check the time. Thankfully you still have ten minutes, which is good you think. For that’s enough time to lock yourself in one of the bathroom stalls and get yourself together. So you enter the building and stride across to the right where you know the toilets are. Then you dart inside and step towards the nearest stall, but just as you push the door open someone grabs you around the middle so you let out a yell. But before you can make any more noise a cloth stained full of chemicals is flung around your mouth and your eyes roll in your head. Then a groan escapes your lips as they slide shut and you slump unconsciously forwards, held mostly upright only with the support of your attacker… 

 

*

 

Mycroft strides into the living room as soon as he gets back to the house and Sherlock, who had just arrived a few minutes before stands up from the armchair at once. 

 

Then as soon as their eyes lock Mycroft asks, “Is anyone else here?”

 

So, “No,” Sherlock replies quickly as both Mycroft and he make their way towards the stairs. Then he adds, “But Garfield could be on his way back soon. He’s got a two hour gap after his first lecture.”

 

And Mycroft can’t help but smile slightly in spite of himself now at his brother’s slip-up, before he says, “Hopefully it won’t take us that long then,” over his shoulder as he leads the way upstairs and Sherlock nods. 

 

Then when they come to be just outside your room they exchange a brief terse look with each other, before Mycroft twists the knob and pushes the door open.

 

The wardrobe faces them and it seems to rise up from the floor and hang over them like some dreadful sign of darkness in a horror film. And for a moment Mycroft just stops and sizes it up, before he swallows and tells himself to stop being so stupid and then strides across to tug it open. Sherlock follows close behind and for a moment, once it’s open, the pair of them just stare at the clothes. Then Mycroft’s eyes roam down to the pile of stuff that has been crammed in at its bottom. And there are the bags that you’d brought your things in when you first came, along with the various books of information and freebies that you’d picked up during Freshers week, and as Mycroft sees them the memory of how he’d stopped you from falling as you’d been walking from one stall to the next comes back to him and he smiles in a grim sort of way for a moment as it does so. Then his face turns more serious as he comes to figure out that whatever Moriarty wants them to find out must be in this pile somewhere. 

 

And Sherlock has the same idea for, “All right, I’ll pull everything out and then you can start looking through it all,” he says, and then he gestures for Mycroft to move back. Something that Mycroft does with some reluctance because he’d rather be the one who takes everything out and therefore be the one who has the first opportunity to come across whatever Moriarty wants them to. For he _has_ waited all this time for some answers after all. 

 

But then Sherlock begins to pull everything out in a steady rhythm, muttering to himself as he does so, so Mycroft begins his own work. Yet after looking through empty bag after empty bag and endless items that don’t seem to have any connection with anything he feels frustrated, hot and restless. But then Sherlock pulls the last bag out. And as he tosses it towards his brother it lands on the floor with a thud and there’s clearly something inside it. So Mycroft pulls it closer to him, before he bends down and unzips it carefully. Then he lets out a little breath upon seeing what’s inside it, before with his body hunched over and the fingers of one hand trailing against the item of discovery he closes his eyes to momentarily block out the sight of such a thing. Yet he opens them a moment later because he can’t run away from this any more than he can run away from what Moriarty has been doing to you. So, resigned to such a fact, he reaches inside and pulls the large trainer out. 

 

Then, “Do you recognize this?” Mycroft asks his brother quietly as a growing dread forms in his stomach. 

 

And Sherlock whirls around, before his mouth drops open and his eyes flicker when they catch sight of the large trainer that he knows instinctively belongs to Carl Powers. Then his hands reach to take said trainer from his brother so that he can study it intently. And he takes in its lovingly kept appearance and the slightly faded name of its owner, before his phone vibrates in his pocket and makes him jump a little. So, whilst he feels irritated at the interruption, he passes the trainer back to Mycroft who rests it down carefully. Then he draws out his phone, before he opens the new text message quickly. And, _So_ , it says, _considering that you've always believed little Carl was murdered do you still find F/N to be another innocent victim in all of this now that you've found one of the missing trainers in her room?_

 

Yet, “It doesn't prove anything, Moriarty could have simply planted it here,” Mycroft says as he reads the text message over his brother’s shoulder. But Sherlock looks at him and Mycroft knows that he’s thinking that even if Moriarty _had_ planted it there that you are clearly implicated and right at the heart of whatever really happened to Carl Powers. So, “You believe that my feelings for her are preventing me from seeing just how caught up in Carl Powers’ death she really is,” he reveals through thin lips.

 

And Sherlock’s phone ping's with the new message: _Ding! Ding!_

 

So Mycroft huffs for a moment. Then he looks up and around, trying to see where the hidden camera is with his eyes. But in the end he can’t see it so he just speaks to the room at large when he says, “All right. You’re obviously keen for us to know what really happened with Carl Powers. So why don’t you just tell us?”

 

But, _Sherlock understands, don’t you Sherlock?_ Comes the new message just a moment later. 

 

And Sherlock meets his brother’s eyes now, before he admits grimly, “He can’t tell us. Not yet anyway. He’s having too much fun playing with us and it’ll be him who decides when he’s ready to do such a thing. So we’ll never have any hope of trying to persuade him to tell us, before he’s ready to do so.”

 

And, _Good_ , Moriarty sends. 

 

So Mycroft huffs again. Then, “So what are we supposed to do now?” he asks, before he goes on, “Because finding the trainer here only hints towards what we already knew. It tells us absolutely nothing new”-

 

“But if we were to reveal what we've done to F/N and confront her with the trainer then we’d all no doubt end up arguing and she’d be even more isolated,” Sherlock interrupts, before his eyes roam the walls towards the ceiling as he goes on, “That’s what you want isn't it? To ruin her completely?” 

 

So, _Of course that sounds like an attractive proposition_ , Moriarty sends a moment later. 

 

“But we could ruin that for you so easily by not confronting her, couldn't we? So you must have another plan?” Mycroft says with a slight edge to his voice. 

 

And Sherlock’s phone ping's a moment later with the text: _Sorry but I'm afraid Big Brother’s right this time._

 

So, “What is it?” Mycroft asks, though he knows that Moriarty won’t tell them of course. But too he knows that if they carry on talking to him then Moriarty might drop a hint or clue that they can use to their advantage. 

 

Yet seconds pass and then minutes and still they haven’t had a reply.

 

So Mycroft begins to feel anxious, whilst Sherlock grows more and more restless and begins to pace around the room as he mutters, “Something’s not right…something’s not right…”

 

And it gets to the point where Mycroft has to look away because Sherlock’s actions are only making him more worked up. But then that means looking around your room and seeing the books that he ran a finger across all that time ago when you first arrived and everything else that reminds him of you. And a desire to see you surges up in his chest now, up and up it goes, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s leaving the room and striding out of the house and walking back up to the campus once more. But no matter how quickly he walks his desire to see you is far greater so he ends up jogging. Then as he finally reaches the campus he ends up running up the steps to the main building, and as he does so he feels even more breathless and as if someone’s punching his heart as he remembers how he’d called your name and you’d waited at the top of these very steps for him. And how he wishes you were there now! For you’d worn this strange yet beautiful expression on your face as you’d watched him and he remembers wishing that he could have access to what you were thinking at that very moment. But too he also remembers that, that was the day he’d seen the bruise on your arm so his mouth tightens as anxiety pulses through him once more. Then when he’s climbed the steps he pauses to get his bearings for a moment, before he looks at his watch. And it’s just a few minutes, before the first lecture slot of the day is due to finish so he brings up your lecture schedule up in his mind. Then he nods to himself and strides towards the main campus building. And he goes through it and heads towards the brown building where he knows your first lecture was. But people start to spill out from it, before he can get to it. And so he finds himself surrounded by a sea of people as his head feverishly turns this way and that so his eyes can search for you. Yet he can’t see you anywhere and the crowd just gets thinner and thinner until he’s just left there standing alone. And that only makes his mind begin to panic even more. But he knows that he has to try and keep himself calm for your sake. So he tries to convince himself that he just missed you. Then he turns around hurriedly and seeks you out with his eyes as he goes. But you’re not anywhere and so he lets out a little breath. Then the library, he thinks, before he wonders if you’ll have really gone back there after what happened this morning. But he knows that he needs a new place to look or he’ll send himself mad so he goes there and looks in between all the shelves and by all the tables and _then_ -

 

His heart jumps in his chest when he sees a girl your height with the same colour hair, before a moment later it plunges back down into his chest as he realizes that it’s not you. 

 

Then he swallows and runs a frustrated hand through his hair, before he pulls out his phone, whilst he wishes that he had your number. But he doesn't, so instead he sends to Sherlock: **I can’t find F/N anywhere. Will you help look?**

 

And he can’t know that Sherlock’s not still pacing around your room or that Sherlock doesn't even need to help find you because he already has. Or that in fact as his phone goes off with Mycroft’s message you’re in his line of vision slumped unconsciously on the floor at the back wall of the building that houses the swimming pool. 

 

Your body is tightly bound in ropes just in case you should wake. And of course Sherlock would undo them if he could and get you out of there, but there’s rather a small problem blocking his way to you in the form of Moriarty who’s wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt and faded jeans. 

 

Yet at the sound of Sherlock’s phone going off Moriarty looks simply delighted. And so it’s only a moment, before he says, “Ooh, well I think we _both_ know who that’s going to be,” and then Sherlock just stares at him with his eyes glittering as he ponders how to play this so he can get you out of there. But Moriarty’s not in the mood to let him think and so, “Aren't you going to see what Big Brother’s got to say for himself then?” he asks, and though his tone is an enquiring one there’s more of an edge to it this time too. 

 

Yet, “Actually I'm more interested in hearing from you right now,” Sherlock begins, before he goes on more leisurely, “We've barely had a chance to talk to each other after all. And what with the clever little closed for maintenance sign you put up to stop anyone else coming in now seems like a good idea to.”

 

But, “Oh _talking_ ,” Moriarty begins, and he waves a hand now. Then he goes on, “We’ll have plenty of time for that later,” before he pauses and goes on in a more dangerous voice, “But for now I’d like you to slowly hand your phone to me.”

 

And for a moment Sherlock just stares at him as he weighs up his options. Then slowly he takes out his phone from his pocket, whilst Moriarty watches him carefully all the time with his head slightly tilted. And something sparks in a satisfied sort of way inside those brown eyes as Sherlock makes the choice to hand the phone over. 

 

Then Sherlock watches as Moriarty opens the new text message and how his face lights up with amusement as he reads it. 

 

And, “It’s your brother just as we thought,” Moriarty begins as he looks back up at Sherlock a moment later. Then as Sherlock’s face tenses up even more he goes on, “Gosh he seems to be going out of his mind looking for F/N. He even wants your help,” and a muscle twitches in Sherlock’s jaw now. And, “What do you think we should send back?” Moriarty asks with his eyes sparkling. Yet he doesn't give Sherlock a chance to reply for, “Should we tell him that she’s here do you think?” he asks teasingly. Then, “Waiting for him to rescue her?” he adds and Sherlock’s lips tighten. “But that would be _far_ too boring, don’t you think? For Mycroft to come charging in now and ruin it all? So let me see… _hmm_ …” Moriarty pretends to consider now, and then, “Oh, I know!” he blurts out excitedly a moment later and Sherlock’s eyes narrow at him a little suspiciously. Then, “We could tell him that we’re having a threesome,” Moriarty says mischievously, before as Sherlock’s eyes narrow even further he lets out a bit of a sigh and goes on, “Oh, you’re no fun,” and, “All right we won’t tell him that,” Moriarty relents. Then, “Mind you,” he says, and he pulls a bit of a face now, “He’s no fun either so he probably wouldn't buy it.” And then, “Let’s see,” he says, before he turns his attention back to the phone and taps out something. Then a moment later he turns the phone so that Sherlock can see its screen, before he asks, “What do you think?” 

 

And as Sherlock reads the words, _‘On it,’_ he nods. 

 

So, “It’s believable isn't it?” Moriarty asks, before he muses, “Short and sweet, encouraging even. Leaving him to flutter about campus, whilst we deal with all the important stuff here,” and then, making up his mind, he presses send, before he tosses the phone behind him. And it slides across the damp floor, before it comes to a stop just in front of you. Then, “There,” Moriarty says with relish in his tone, before he takes a couple of steps towards Sherlock. 

 

And Sherlock, whose eyes had been focusing on you and his phone, looks back to him. Then, after seeing how close Moriarty is to him now Sherlock says, “So tell me about Carl.”

 

But, “Oh honey, asking me about the person who once made my life hell is hardly a way to endear yourself to me,” Moriarty says as if he’s disappointed with Sherlock. “But then I guess after all your futile attempts with John I should have expected such a thing from you shouldn't I?” he asks. And then he bends down and Sherlock watches as he undoes his shoes and takes them off along with his socks, and in his head Sherlock knows that he should probably be using this opportunity to push Moriarty in the pool so that he can use the time to get you out of there, but he just can’t because he doesn't have any answers yet. Then Moriarty rolls his trouser legs up a little and goes to sit by the edge of the pool, before he twists around a little so that he can peer up at Sherlock. And then he taps the spot by him to ask Sherlock to join him. 

 

Yet, “I don’t want to talk about John,” Sherlock says as he surveys Moriarty, before he cautiously takes his shoes and socks off and rolls up his trouser legs. Then he goes to sit beside Moriarty so that there’s only a small gap between their legs, which dangle into the water and send out ripples across it, before he says, “I want to talk about Carl,” evenly as he turns his head to look at Moriarty. 

 

So, “Why don’t you tell me what you think happened with Carl? And then I’ll tell you if you’re right?” Moriarty suggests and Sherlock looks at him calculatingly. 

 

But, “Oh, I'm not going to sit here and play guessing games with you. That’s a waste of both our times,” Sherlock begins, before as his eyes glitter he ploughs on, “Though I do think F/N knows exactly what happened with Carl. And I'm sure if I woke her up now then she could quite easily tell me.” 

 

Yet far from being alarmed at such a prospect Moriarty simply says, “Be my guest,” with a wave of his hand. 

 

So Sherlock looks cautiously across to you now, before he looks back at Moriarty. Then he pushes himself back from the edge of the pool and stands up, before he slowly makes his way towards you. But all the time he can feel Moriarty’s eyes on his back. 

 

And then, “Do you _really_ think she’d tell you?” Moriarty asks as if he just can’t help his curiosity, before when Sherlock turns back to look at him he goes on, “When she’s never told anyone and not even your brother, who she’s got the biggest crush on, could prise it out of her?” And then when he sees Sherlock faltering he lets out a bit of a laugh, before he says, “Come on, come back here and tell me about all your problems with John. Maybe I’ll be able to help you.”

 

So, “Why would you want to do that?” Sherlock asks now, before he makes his way back to Moriarty in spite of himself and sits back down. 

 

And, “Oh, I'm a firm believer in romance, didn't you know?” Moriarty quips and his eyes seem to dance with something both playful and dangerous as Sherlock looks at him. 

 

So, “Yes, it really seemed that way every time you raped F/N,” Sherlock shoots back. 

 

And, “Oh not you as well,” Moriarty groans a little despairingly, before, “Your brother said I raped her too,” he explains, and he sounds both sad and disappointed now, as if he’d begun to think that there was a possibility that Sherlock understood him but now he's been proved wrong. 

 

So, “What would you call it then?” Sherlock asks him, before he raises an eyebrow as he questions sardonically, “Making love?” 

 

And Moriarty just lets out a short, swift laugh now that bounces off the walls and makes the hairs on the back of Sherlock’s neck stand up. Then, “I've never understood that,” he confesses as he shifts his position so that his knee knocks against Sherlock’s momentarily. 

 

And, “What?” Sherlock asks softly. 

 

So, “Why people call it that. Making love,” Moriarty begins and his face scrunches up a little as he ponders for a moment, before he asks, “How can you make love?” and then when Sherlock doesn't reply he admits, “I don’t know why I'm asking _you_ , it’s not as if you’d know. You've probably never even kissed anyone have you?” 

 

And Sherlock’s mind goes back to the park and that cold, almost damp October night when he’d clumsily kissed John and John had gone on to pretend like it hadn't meant anything. But his heart sinks as he recalls it so still he doesn't say anything. 

 

And they sit there for another minute in complete silence. 

 

Then, “What do you think your brother’s doing now? Do you think he’ll stop to eat today or will he just carry on looking for F/N?” Moriarty wonders. 

 

But Sherlock ignores his musings and says instead, “I think you murdered Carl and I think F/N either saw you do it or found out that you had,” and as he speaks his eyes are fixed on the water, but as he finishes he swings his head to look back at Moriarty. 

 

So, “Do you now?” Moriarty asks in a dangerous tone, before he stands up suddenly and his eyes glitter with something as he does so. 

 

And Sherlock gets to his feet quickly in the next moment, before the two survey each other. 

 

Then Moriarty takes a step forwards so that there’s barely a gap between their bodies, before he trails a finger down the centre of Sherlock’s shirt. And his finger catches upon the buttons as he does so. Sherlock meanwhile stiffens, before he listens as Moriarty asks, “What else do you think?” and then he watches as Moriarty tilts his head up so that their eyes can lock together. 

 

And the effect of Moriarty’s steady gaze makes Sherlock want to swallow and shift his position. But he doesn't. Instead he says quietly, “I think, for all your talk, F/N is one of the only people who’s ever got under your skin,” and Moriarty tilts his head now, before he blinks languidly. 

 

Then, “You’re wrong,” he tells Sherlock, before he goes on, “ _Everyone_ gets under my skin. They crawl and drag themselves underneath it like some sort of tropical disease; they’re there constantly. It’s”- and as he breaks off now he gives a little shudder-“ _Exhausting_ trying to deal with them all”-

 

“But you have to be selective don’t you?” Sherlock interrupts as he begins to understand more. 

 

And Moriarty nods in a feverish sort of fashion now. Then, “Yes, yes. I have to decide which ones _really_ ”- and his eyes nearly roll into the back of his head now-“Really need to be dealt with,” he continues, and a crazed grin lights up his face. 

 

So, “F/N is one of those people?” Sherlock questions carefully. 

 

And, _“F/N,”_ Moriarty breathes out now, before he looks across to you and as he does so his words seem to get lost inside him. Then he wanders across to you and touches the top of your hair delicately with his finger, before he trails the same finger down it a moment later as he says, “F/N is part of that process yes, she’s going through it right now in fact, but it’s not complete yet, no it’s not complete yet,” more to himself than to Sherlock. But, “It won’t be long though,” he adds and a delicious sort of smile toys around his face as he looks down at you. 

 

Yet, “She wasn't the first though, _Carl_ ”- 

 

“But she’s not the only one I have to deal with at the moment,” Moriarty continues as if Sherlock had never spoken, though it’s Sherlock he’s looking at now. Sherlock who he goes to and Sherlock’s shoulder, which he trails a hand across in a spider-like fashion. 

 

So, “My brother”- Sherlock begins automatically. 

 

Yet, “No, though I've had some unexpected fun with him I admit. And of course he is becoming a dreadful nuisance so I’ll have to deal with him soon. _Very_ soon in fact. But he’s not the one who I have to deal with right now,” Moriarty interrupts. 

 

So, “Who?”- Sherlock begins. 

 

And, _“You,”_ Moriarty reveals, and then just at the very moment where Sherlock’s eyes begin to widen Moriarty pushes against his shoulder and twists it. 

 

Yet Sherlock reacts immediately and so before Moriarty can twist and push him into the pool he grabs at the man and twists them both around until Moriarty’s the one half-bent towards the pool. And his hands scrabble towards Sherlock’s chest though he can’t quite reach it with the way Sherlock’s holding him and leaning over him. 

 

Then, “Tell me about Carl,” Sherlock growls out at the same time Moriarty says, “Very good,” in a high-pitched voice full of wonder. 

 

Yet upon hearing Sherlock’s words Moriarty breathes, “F/N knows it all. And I'm afraid you’ll have to get it out of her after all if you can because I'm not going to tell you. Not today. So you might as well let go of me now and let me fall Sherlock.”

 

And Sherlock lets Moriarty slip a little closer to the pool now just to see what the effect will be. But aside from letting out a bit of a surprised gasp Moriarty just smiles. 

 

So, knowing that he’ll have to try something else, Sherlock steps back and makes to pull Moriarty back up into a standing position, but before he can something like triumph shines in those brown eyes and in one swift movement Moriarty grabs Sherlock’s shirt and pulls them both into the pool. 

 

Their bodies slam against each other as they crash into the water, whilst Moriarty acts as a buffer between Sherlock and it. But, even so, the impact still makes Sherlock gasp out and the split second of shock allows Moriarty to swing around so that he can push Sherlock down, down, which has Sherlock struggling against him. 

 

And Moriarty may be shorter than him but he’s stronger so he manages to stop Sherlock’s head from going up to the surface for air. Then he wraps an arm around his neck and pushes him even further down. 

 

And Sherlock wriggles and kicks out as he struggles to get away from Moriarty, whilst his head twists and turns to look at the other man. And Moriarty’s face seems to spin in front of his eyes again and again. Then as Moriarty bites down hard onto Sherlock’s shoulder a stream of bubbles are released from Sherlock’s mouth. But as much as Sherlock fights it’s no good. And as his need for air increases his movements begin to get more and more frantic until, as his eyes see only darkness and his head sags against his shoulder, he stills completely. 

 

And Moriarty has the smile of the devil on his face as he pulls the dead weight to the surface. 

 

*

 

Meanwhile through the window of the library Mycroft spots Greg and Molly striding across to leave the main campus together, and before he’s even decided to he’s running up to them and calling out, “Gregory! Molly!” as he darts around people to do so. 

 

And they falter and then stop, turning together to watch as he approaches them with grim, defensive expressions on their faces. 

 

But Mycroft has no time for any more drama today. So as he stops in front of them, still rather breathless and with a stitch in his side, he blurts out, “Have you seen F/N?”

 

And Molly folds her arms over her chest now and says, “No we haven’t.”

 

But Greg seems to sense that something isn't right from the expression that’s on Mycroft’s face so he asks, “Has something happened?”

 

Yet, “There’s no time to explain, just text me if you see her please,” Mycroft says. And then he only waits for Greg to nod falteringly, before he hurries off again, whilst he wonders where on earth he should look for you next. 

 

But in the end he just spends the next hour wandering about aimlessly and texting Sherlock as to whether he’s made any progress. Yet much to his chagrin Sherlock always sends back a negative response. Then at the time you’re supposed to have your next lecture he makes his way to the relevant lecture hall inside the main campus and looks around at the already milling crowd. But you’re not anywhere. So growing more and more desperate Mycroft turns to the nearest person beside him, who’s a blonde girl in casual clothes with a brown bag over one shoulder. And then he asks her, “Excuse me, have you seen F/N L/N at all? I believe she’s supposed to be coming to this lecture?” and though he tries to keep the worry out of his voice it’s threaded with anxiety all the same. 

 

But she just looks at him, before she says, “No I haven’t mate, sorry,” and the feeble hope that had been growing in Mycroft’s eyes dies, before he frantically goes back to looking around once more. 

 

And he even waits for everyone to go in, before he peers through the circular windows on the double doors and runs his eyes over everyone who’s present. But it’s no good. You’re not anywhere and the tension inside him is growing unbearable. Yet there is little he can do, he knows, except to carry on searching so that’s what he does. 

 

But he doesn't see you and nor does he receive any word from either Sherlock or Greg to say that they've been any more successful. And so, feeling tired, miserable and hungry he finally trudges back to the house just before half-past seven that evening. For as much as he wants to carry on searching he knows that he’ll be of no use to you if he faints because he hasn't eaten. And he could also do with seeing Sherlock’s familiar face again too if he’s around. 

 

Yet Sherlock isn't there when he gets back, and when he asks Greg after him Greg says that he hasn't seen Sherlock since this morning, so Mycroft makes to move away with his glass of water to wait off to the side for his microwave meal to be ready. 

 

But Greg who’s washing up only looks away for a moment, before he turns to him and says, “Listen, I know that things haven’t been the greatest between us recently”- and as Mycroft listens he can only imagine what Sherlock might have sarcastically interrupted him with there and his heart pangs for how he’d like to see his brother now-“But is everything all right? I mean F/N’s not in trouble or anything like that is she?”

 

And Mycroft sips at his water for a moment as he contemplates how to reply, whilst Greg’s eyes fix on him. Then, “I hope not,” Mycroft chooses to reply delicately, before he finishes more firmly, “But I need to find her.” 

 

And Greg swallows and nods now, before he looks away from him for a moment. Then a second later he looks back at Mycroft and asks, “So, um, Moriarty and her, is it serious then?” and Mycroft looks at him darkly but allows him to continue, “It’s just that, well, Molly pointed it out the other day. And I have to agree that it seems like their relationship’s more a physical one than a long-term one. I mean he used to come around all the time when he was dating Molly but aside from breakfast we never see him. Not that I'm complaining like, but it just seems like a stupid thing for her to throw everyone else away for”-

 

And Mycroft’s bristling now and he can take no more. So, “For the record it was Molly and you who decided to throw her away, not the other way around. And another thing, do you really think F/N has ever been interested in Moriarty? Can you _really_ not see how she’s been growing more and more withdrawn and looking increasingly sickly ever since he forced himself upon her?” he asks, and there’s something pleading in his tone now. Something that’s begging Greg to see sense tonight.

 

And Greg stiffens, before he asks, “What are you suggesting?” 

 

But Mycroft can’t talk about Moriarty raping you tonight, he doesn't have the strength too. Especially when he doesn't even know if you’re safe right now and when he needs to go back out and look for you. So instead he just huffs out, “I’ll let you draw your own conclusions,” before when the microwave goes off a second later he goes automatically towards it. 

 

Yet, “Mycroft?” Greg attempts. 

 

But, “Please just leave me be Gregory. I'm in no mood to explain everything to you tonight. All I want to do is eat this and go out again to try to find F/N,” Mycroft replies.

 

And Greg’s mouth opens and closes as if he wants to say more. But then in the end he decides against it and just lets out a soft, “Okay,” so Mycroft nods in relief. 

 

Yet when Mycroft leaves the house just twelve minutes later after wolfing down his meal and drinking his water at the same fast pace and tugging on a coat over his clothes he just feels even sicker rather than comforted by having gone back to the house. Not to mention ashamed with himself for having to stop in the first place when all sorts of horrible things could be happening to you right at that very moment. And wherever you are he feels pretty sure that you won’t have just eaten and drank in relative comfort like he had. So his eyes scan the rapidly darkening and cold surroundings even more desperately as he wonders once more where he should begin to look for you. But in the end he just decides to go back to the campus. For that was where he’d last seen you and he can at least check the library again as a starting point, even though something inside him tells him that you won’t be there. 

 

But then as he’s climbing up the steps to the main building he feels his phone vibrating in his coat pocket so he stops at once and lets out a little breath as he does so. Then he pulls his phone out with fumbling fingers. The message is from Sherlock, and even though all it says is: _Meet me at the university swimming pool as soon as you can_ , Mycroft feels a sense of relief at hearing from his brother again nonetheless. Then he swallows, for it sounds like Sherlock’s found something. 

 

So he readies himself and squares his shoulders, before he turns around and moves away from the bright lights and people filled area of the main campus and closer towards the darkness of the night instead. 

 

But when he arrives at the building where the gym and swimming pool are located there are no lights on. And for a moment Mycroft wonders if he’s got the right place, especially when the main door, which has a closed for maintenance sign on it, is shut. But then when he gains access through a side door he can smell the chlorine at once so he treads cautiously onwards and goes down a wide hallway where he keeps close to the wall as his heart beats loudly in his chest. And it is so loud that he can hear the thrum of it in his ears. Then he comes to a crossroads where there’s a door directly in front of him and then two hallways branching off to either side of him. And he knows that there’s a sign just above his head with guidance on but even though his eyes have adjusted to the dark he still can’t make out its words. So instead he swallows and just tries to regulate his breathing and calm down a little. Then, using his head, he goes towards the direction that the smell of chlorine is coming from the strongest, which happens to be directly in front of him. And sure enough when he pushes the door open and slips through it a large swimming pool glimmers in the middle of the long room, which is dimly lit. Yet a quick scan of the room tells him that Sherlock’s not there. 

 

So, “Sherlock?” he calls softly, just in case his brother’s hiding-like he used to do when they were children and when he was feeling scared-to make sure that it’s him before he comes out. 

 

But then he starts violently a moment later when something’s thrown from the shadowy corners of the far wall towards him. And the object skitters across the damp floor, before it comes to a stop just a few feet in front of him. 

 

And it’s a phone Mycroft realizes, before even though every inch of his body is thrumming and itching to get out of there he creeps cautiously towards it because it’s not just anyone’s phone but his brother’s. And the question that, _‘If Sherlock’s phone is here but Sherlock isn't then who texted him earlier?’_ comes to him now.

 

*

 

Meanwhile, “Greg what is it?” Molly asks from where she and Greg are sitting on the settee in the living room because he keeps shifting beside her all the time and looking at the clock. 

 

And he starts at her words, before he turns to her and then, “Sorry,” he huffs out, before his eyes dart to the clock again, whilst he wonders if he should tell her the truth because he doesn't want to upset her. 

 

But she takes his hands in hers to get him to look at her, and then, “Is this about Mycroft coming up to us earlier and asking about F/N?” she asks. 

 

So Greg lets out a little breath of relief at the fact that she sounds more curious than mad now. Then he admits, “Kind of,” before he turns towards her more as he goes on, “It’s just when Mycroft came back when you were in your room he seemed really…I don’t know, like something was _really_ wrong, and then he said”- and Greg breaks off now because he’s not quite sure how to phrase it, _especially_ to Molly. 

 

But, “Then he said what?” Molly asks, and her face is both apprehensive and serious now. 

 

So Greg swallows and runs a hand through his hair, before he tells her, “Well, he made it sound like maybe…”

 

And, “Maybe _what_ Greg?” Molly asks more firmly now, before she squeezes his hands encouragingly with hers. 

 

So Greg hesitates and looks down at their linked hands, before he looks back up at her and confesses hurriedly, “Like maybe Moriarty’s been forcing F/N to have sex with him.” And then after Molly lets out a bit of a shocked gasp, before her hands go up automatically to cover her mouth he goes on quickly, “And I'm not saying I believe that or anything, but I just get the feeling, what with Mycroft acting how he was earlier, that maybe there’s been something more going on after all.”

 

And Molly swallows now and leans back a little, for she doesn't know what to think. Then, “With me he never”- she begins. 

 

So, “I know,” Greg interrupts her and he squeezes her hands now to let her know that he gets it, that he knows it’s a hard thing to process. Then, “I'm not saying that Moriarty’s definitely doing that to F/N. I may have misunderstood. But it was just the way that Mycroft said what he did earlier about how F/N’s been more withdrawn and looking ill lately that”-

 

And, “She _has_ been looking quite pale,” Molly admits now as she thinks back to whenever she’s caught glimpses of you lately. But she still doesn't want to believe it so, “It couldn't just be Mycroft overreacting though could it?” she asks. And then before Greg can respond she reminds him, “He does tend to a bit when it comes to F/N.”

 

But, “I don’t think it was,” Greg confesses, “Not in this case. And anyway even if it was an overreaction that doesn't explain where F/N’s been all day. And we haven’t seen Sherlock since breakfast either,” he reminds her.

 

So Molly shifts uncomfortably, before she checks the time too. Then, “Do you want to see if we can find them all?” she asks as she turns back to Greg. 

 

But, “Only if you’re sure that you’re okay to try and do so?” Greg asks, for he doesn't want her to feel like he’s pressurizing her into doing this. 

 

Yet Molly just nods now so they let go of each other’s hands. Then they get up and go to put their coats on, before they make their way outside. 

 

It’s bitterly cold for the time of year and already quite dark, and Molly finds herself letting out a little breath as Greg and she become encased in it. 

 

Then, “Maybe before we go up to the campus we should go to John’s and see if he’s seen any of them. For all we know Sherlock’s been there all day,” Greg says as he tries to be upbeat about the whole thing, but Molly can tell that in actual fact he’s very worried and that only makes her feel more worried about the whole thing herself. 

 

Yet when he turns to her she just nods and says, “Okay,” and then they give each other a faltering kind of smile, before they begin to walk quickly alongside each other.

 

*

 

Meanwhile at the pool when Mycroft comes to be standing over the phone and still nothing else has happened he looks around steadily, before he crouches down to pick it up. But then when his hand is just inches away from it he freezes because his eyes catch sight of something in the water so he looks across at it. Then he abandons the phone completely and straightens up, before he moves as close to the edge of the swimming pool as he dares. For in the deepest end he can see something vast and hazy underneath the surface. But in the dim light he can’t make it out clearly. And then, before he can get closer to investigate properly something moves towards him out of the shadows so Mycroft steps hurriedly back away from the edge.

 

Then, “It was good of you to come,” Moriarty says, before he stops just a few feet behind Sherlock’s phone, which acts as a centre point between Mycroft and himself. 

 

So Mycroft takes in the slicked back hair and the smart dark suit, white shirt and skull tie, whilst he ponders on what he should say. 

 

But Moriarty’s quite happy to take the lead for, “Whilst you were running around losing your mind up on campus because of your sweet, desperate love for F/N, your brother was smart, or I guess stupid, because he sought me out at once. He knew that I’d probably end up at this pool, which, though of course isn't the same one little Carl drowned in, is the closest physical representation of what you've been trying so pathetically to find out more about. So he came,” he says. And then he pauses and takes in Mycroft’s cold eyes and thin lips, before he reveals, “And he lost.” Then he smirks when he sees a muscle pulse in Mycroft’s jaw.

 

But Mycroft’s fed up of playing Moriarty’s game and he refuses to play it any more, so, “Where’s Sherlock?” he asks. 

 

Yet Moriarty just smirks some more and chuckles, before he says, “You know what? I'm not going to deny you that information and I’ll even tell you where F/N is too. But there’s one condition”-

 

So, “What?” Mycroft growls out with untrusting narrowed eyes. 

 

And, _“Patience,”_ Moriarty says, and his eyes flash. Then he goes on to answer Mycroft’s question when he says, “You have to listen to a story. Can you do that? Can you be quiet and not interrupt? Because if you _can’t_ , well”- and he breaks off now, but he doesn't have to continue for four spotlights reveal four home-made bombs in each corner of the room and Mycroft’s breath hitches in his chest at the sight of each one. 

 

Yet his voice is calm as he asks enquiringly, “How do I know that you won’t let them off anyway?”

 

And, “You don’t,” Moriarty says now, “But I know your brother for one would much rather die with all the information that he’s waited for, for so long then without it. And you _have_ waited such a long time for this haven’t you?” and Mycroft swallows now. 

 

Then, “All right, tell me what you want and then tell me where Sherlock and F/N are,” he says with his eyes never leaving Moriarty’s. 

 

*

 

It takes ten minutes just to get to John’s and that’s plenty of time to make Molly and Greg feel cold through, not to mention even more anxious. 

 

And so when they get to the front door Greg knocks against it urgently with his hand, whilst Molly shifts uncomfortably, feeling only colder now that they've stopped. 

 

Then a moment later the door opens and it’s a relief when they both see John there. For at least _he’s_ around. 

 

And, “Hey mate,” Greg says as John looks surprised to see them both there, before, “I don’t suppose you know where Sherlock, Mycroft or F/N are do you?” he asks. 

 

And John’s lips part a little now, before he looks in between them and takes in their anxious faces. Then he says, “No, I haven’t seen any of them all day,” before when Greg and Molly look at each other worriedly he asks, “Why what’s going on?” with his brow furrowed. 

 

So Molly opens her mouth even though she has no idea of where to start, but Greg gets there first with the words, “Moriarty’s not in is he?” 

 

And John’s brow furrows even more now, before he tells them, “No, I don’t think so,” with a very confused expression on his face.

 

Yet, “Do you mind if we check just to make sure?” Greg asks. 

 

And John’s lips part again, but then he just gives a little shake of his head, before he turns and leads the way upstairs. 

 

So after exchanging a quick look with each other Greg and Molly follow him. And from the landing John takes them down a small hallway to the door that’s next to his own bedroom, right in the middle of things, before he pushes it open. 

 

But, _“Shit,”_ he breathes as he steps inside it. So Greg and Molly hurriedly make to enter too, before they let out surprised breaths of their own when they see how the room, apart from the basic furniture that was there to begin with, is empty. 

 

*

 

And, “Oh I will,” Moriarty purrs, “But first let me tell you about the F/N I know,” and once more Mycroft’s breath hitches in his chest, for this is it he knows. _This_ is when he’s going to find out how Carl Powers died and the actions that you think will make him never want to talk to you again. And Moriarty looks at him with satisfaction in his eyes for a moment. Then he continues, “When F/N moved to the school I went to I was rather lonely because I’d already been marked out as different. And I watched as she was too, partly because she was new, and partly because she was different too. So naturally we were drawn to each other. And though I tried to resist, _well_ , you've seen it for yourself”- and Mycroft’s body stiffens even more now-“There’s just something about her that draws you in,” and Moriarty pauses now to take a breath. Then he says, “At first it was just casual conversation in the library and in passing, not so much unlike your relationship with her I might add,” and as Moriarty smirks Mycroft looks infuriated by the comparison. “Then, before I knew it I found myself eating lunch with her and even going around to her house after school and though this must all sound very sweet to you I can assure you that it wasn't. For we were both still lonely. I could feel it in myself and sense it in her when it was particularly strong. And sometimes we’d lie on her bed in opposite directions and just spend hours staring at the ceiling, neither of us saying a word. Then of course," Moriarty says, before he continues, "There were those people who weren't content with just letting us mind our own business. And Carl was one of them. He’d made fun of me long before F/N came to the school,” and something burns inside Moriarty's eyes now, before he goes on, “But as soon as she came he started on her too. And it was stupid things at first," he confesses. Then, "She brought in this cute pen that had a figure of Bambi on the top to school one day. Her Mum had bought it for her and she was excited about using it,” he says, and Mycroft can see it now, see the same woman who’d looked at the fireworks with so much wonder in her eyes as a girl with excited eyes as she bounces around a little on her feet beside a younger Moriarty as they walk to class together, and his heart tumbles down inside him. “But as soon as Carl saw it,” Moriarty goes on now, whilst his eyes cloud over with the memory, “He started making fun of her for it and asking if she liked cute Disney films and if her Mum was dead too,” and Moriarty swallows now. “Then it got worse. He started pointing her out as the boys went past the girls in gym class and making crude remarks and running up to try and touch her on the arm,” and then, “Oh, I should probably mention that she’d joined the swimming team by then,” Moriarty adds, and he blinks and nods a little now as he seems to see Mycroft properly in front of him once more. Then, “It was the only club she ever did and I told her not to do it because Carl was on it. But she loved to swim back then. I don’t know why. Perhaps one of her parents loved it and she did it because she wanted to make them proud. Or perhaps it just made her feel free. But in any case one day I went to the pool, to meet her after her practice and Carl and a couple of his friends were watching her and he made some comment as she swam past on her last lap. So I pushed him. I couldn't help it. But there were three of them and one of me. And so it wasn't long, before one of Carl’s friends gave me a split lip, before they pushed me in the water. Then F/N helped me out and dried me off and we never spoke of it again. But that was probably the moment where I properly began to dream of a Carl Powers free world. And as I thought about it, it didn't take me long to conclude that I could quite easily make it all look like a terrible accident by introducing botulinum to his eczema medicine,” and Mycroft lets out a little breath now. Then, “I'm not saying I did it for her or anything like that. I did it for everyone and because people like Carl don’t deserve to exist,” Moriarty goes on, and he says that last part with relish. “But on the day of Carl’s last swimming competition when a bunch of us went down to London alongside the competitors to support them, I snuck into the locker room during F/N’s race. Her race was done, before I was though, and noticing that I wasn't there she came to find me. She saw me taking Carl’s trainers and I had to leave the trainers somewhere safe and go back for them later just so that I could drag her out of there to watch the next race and stop her from asking me what I was doing. She knew even then, I think, that it was more than just me pulling a prank and when it was time for Carl’s race she was watching him like a hawk. So she was the first one to see him as he began to get into difficulty. But before she could point him out I grabbed her hand and pushed it back. I can still see the way she looked at me then even when I close my eyes now,” and he does just that now as his mind conjures you up on that day once more. Then, “Her eyes were wide, frightened,” he says, before he goes on, “Her lips were slightly parted, her hair done up in a ponytail after her swim and her body was still dripping with water…” and then Moriarty’s eyes flick open once more, before he smiles sadly as he looks at Mycroft. Then, “She could have yelled,” he says, “But she didn't and we both watched him drown. Then when they pulled him from the water and tried to resuscitate him she left me to go and be sick. She confronted me about it later that night of course. She spent the whole bus ride back to the school in complete silence and then when it was just us and we were walking back home she exploded. I tried to remind her that Carl was a bad person and that he deserved every second of it. But still, it only took a few days, before she abandoned me completely. Yet she never revealed the truth. And how could she when she was just as guilty as me?” 

 

And Mycroft stares at him now, feeling a bit sick himself, whilst his heart aches for you and all you've been through and his mind, which can barely process all the information that Moriarty’s just unloaded on him, wishes that you hadn't had to go through such things. But then he recognizes that Moriarty’s watching him calculatingly, so, feeling like he has to say something, he asks carefully, “So all of this, _everything_ that you've done to her, is because she could bear to be around you after you murdered Carl Powers?” for what Moriarty’s done to you seems unjustly harsh and unbalanced compared to what it appears you've done to him. 

 

*

 

“We have to find them,” Greg says now as he turns to rush back downstairs. 

 

And as John takes after him and Molly now he says, “I’ll come with you,” because he’s got this feeling inside him telling him that Sherlock’s been right all this time and he feels like such a fool for not taking his best friend more seriously. 

 

So he grabs his coat on the way out and then all three of them hurry up towards the university campus. 

 

Then as they begin to stride up the hill, panting a little as they do so as the cold hits their chests, John asks a little breathlessly, “So what’s this all about then?” and then as Greg looks at him around Molly’s head he goes on, “Because Sherlock said before that he thought there was something going on with Moriarty, but,” and it pains him to admit this now, “I never really paid it much attention.”

 

Yet, “You’re not the only one,” Greg admits a little bitterly, before he goes on, “We ignored Mycroft when he basically said the same thing. Although to be fair we did have a good reason to,” and he nods at Molly now. 

 

So, “Because of what happened with F/N and Moriarty?” John questions now just to make sure that he’s understood. 

 

And Greg nods, before he goes on to explain about how odd Mycroft was acting earlier and the possible meaning behind his words. 

 

Then John pales slightly and nods and he can’t help but think that if he knows Sherlock then he’s probably caught up somewhere right in the heart of it all. And as he begins to quicken his pace automatically the others do the same. 

 

*

 

Yet, “You make it sound like she was torn up about it all,” Moriarty says with an air of disgust in his voice. “But I never saw her do anything that showed me she regretted just tossing me aside so easily,” he goes on, and Mycroft opens his mouth now to protest, but before he can Moriarty waves a hand and says, “Nah. She made her choice. Just like Carl made his. And now, I'm afraid, you've got to make yours,” and Mycroft’s mouth closes now, before sweat begins to form on his brow as he looks at him. “For F/N and Sherlock are at the bottom of this pool,” Moriarty reveals and Mycroft’s mouth drops open in horror, before his eyes dart to the shadowy figures beneath the surface at the deep end again. Yet, “Oh, don’t worry, they've got breathing apparatus on,” Moriarty says, before he adds slyly, “Though they’re due to run out of air soon.” So, “Here’s where your choice comes in,” he tells Mycroft, “For in a moment the timers on all four devices will be activated. So you’ll have perhaps five minutes,” and Mycroft swallows, for he’s already started to see where the problem might lie, before he listens as Moriarty goes on, “Which will be enough time to get one of them and get yourself and whoever you pick out through the fire exit. You’ll never get them both out in that time though. So who’s it going to be? Your brother who you've grown up with and actively tried to protect your whole life? Or the woman you’re in love with but who you've just found out helped cover up a murder?” and as Moriarty finishes he’s perfectly still. 

 

But Mycroft doesn't have time to do anything more than stare incredulously at Moriarty and breathe quickly, before the spotlights flash on and off quickly. And he groans at the effect it has on his eyes, before when the spotlights finally remain off as the timers are activated he tugs his coat and jacket off frantically and pulls his shoes and socks off. Then, with no time to even glance at Moriarty one last time, he dives into the pool in one fluid movement. And as soon as he hits the surface he becomes aware that the buttons on his shirt are choking him so he unbuttons the top three with fumbling fingers, before he wades across quickly towards the deepest part of the pool. Then, as his heart races, he pulls his head underneath the water so that he might assess the situation. And as soon as his eyes open and adjust his heart slams in his chest when he sees the figures of Sherlock and you in between two manikins, all of you weighed down by the small oxygen tanks that are on your backs. Not to mention the weights that have been strapped to your ankles to keep you down. And then he pushes to the surface again and takes a deep breath upon breaking the surface, before he plunges under once more. 

 

This time he moves so that he’s hovering in between Sherlock and you and his eyes gaze at you both for a moment. Your hair is fanning out in waves around your face, being drawn upwards. And he can’t see your face properly, but he can see enough to know that your skin is pale and your eyes are shut, whilst he can’t see your lips at all because of the breathing device that’s attached to them and that’s blowing out a steady stream of bubbles. Sherlock’s in a similar position and Mycroft struggles for a moment now, before he dives down and makes to undo the weights around Sherlock’s ankles first. He runs out of air though, before he can finish and so he has to dive back up, before coming back down once more. And then once he’s finally got Sherlock free he pulls his brother up to the surface and across towards the side of the pool. And he’s glad in that moment that his brother’s so skinny, for he’s enough of a dead weight in his arms as it is. Then just as he manages to grab onto the side of the pool with a gasp Sherlock’s eyes spring open and so Mycroft tugs the breathing apparatus from his mouth so that he can breathe freely, before he helps to push and shove his brother out of the pool. And once he’s out Sherlock crouches on all fours on the wet floor, his clothes soaked through, as he coughs and splutters, before he staggers to his feet. So Mycroft, bobbing there still, pants, “The bombs,” and Sherlock’s eyes flick across to him. Then he jerks his head forwards in the tiniest of movements. So Mycroft turns and dives back underneath the pool, this time to get to you. And when he does, knowing that he’s running out of time, he goes for the weights that are holding you down without any hesitation. And bubbles stream out of his mouth as he curses when he struggles to undo them with fumbling fingers. Then finally they come undone and he pulls you up to the surface. 

 

And as soon as your heads crash out over it you jerk back to life so Mycroft tears the breathing device away from your lips and tosses it aside. And the act of him doing so makes you begin to cough and splutter at once, whilst you clutch onto each other still. 

 

Yet nothing makes sense to you so, _“Mycroft?”_ you breathe as soon as you can in between coughing and spluttering. And your eyes water as the back of your throat burns with something, whilst you clutch onto his shoulders all the time. 

 

But, “Don’t try to speak,” he begins, his fringe damp against his forehead and his eyes on you, “Just try to focus on your breath”-

 

Yet in the next moment there’s a great _whoosh_ of air and Mycroft stops talking and you let out a great cry as you’re ripped from his arms, whilst his hands wave through the air as they try to hold onto you still. But it’s no good; you’re both flung in opposite directions. And then as Mycroft’s back comes into contact with the back, or could it be the side of the pool he doesn't know, his eyes roll in his head, before he lets out a pain filled groan. Then as his body slumps forwards into the water he knows no more. 

 

*

 

Molly, Greg and John have just started to climb the steps up to the main building of the campus so that they might begin their search when a massive bang that comes from the bottom of campus gets rid of the silence in the cold atmosphere and makes them all start. 

 

And John instinctively turns around to it, his hand on the railing still, before he mutters, _“Sherlock,”_ automatically. Then his eyes fix on where a cloud of brown dust is rising up and polluting the navy sky, before he clatters down the steps and runs towards it. 

 

So, _“John!”_ Greg cries, before he tears after him and Molly hurriedly follows suit. 

 

Then all three of them are running and panting, their minds numb aside from the need to get to wherever that dust cloud has risen up from. 

 

And John sees it first. Sees the one wall that has been blown asunder and sees the small crowd that has started to begin to gather close to it and then, _“SHERLOCK!”_ he yells in a cry that rips the air apart as his eyes finally come to fix upon the familiar mop of dark curls as its owner attempts to stagger to his feet from where he’s just rested your unconscious figure next to that of Mycroft’s on the ground. Then he’s pushing through the crowd as if he’s wading through water and all his eyes can see is Sherlock. Sherlock who’s drenched from head to foot with both water and dust and shaking from the cold as droplets of water cling to his eyelashes and drip down from his hair to his face. Sherlock who has got a bleeding cut across his cheek in a diagonal thin red line and scratches across his hands. Sherlock whose breath hitches in his chest and whose eyes turn to look at the sound of his name. And then as their eyes lock onto each other’s John moves forwards even more determinedly, before suddenly he’s there and before he even knows what he’s doing himself he’s grabbing Sherlock’s damp shirt with his hands and pulling him down-showering himself with water as he does so-into a kiss. 

 

And Sherlock lets out a gasp of surprise into his mouth but John doesn't care about that, or the fact that Sherlock’s got little breath or energy to be kissing him with right now. All he cares about is the fact that Sherlock’s here and alive and able to kiss him. And as his rough lips slide against Sherlock’s slick damp ones all he can wonder is why he’s never done this before and why he’s messed around with so many girls when Sherlock’s been there all along just waiting for him. 

 

Then, _“Christ,”_ Sherlock breathes as his head spins from it all when they finally pull apart. 

 

And John smiles at him and goes down from where he’s been standing on his tiptoes and for a moment Sherlock just smiles back at him. But then he lets out an incoherent gurgle, before he slumps forwards lifelessly into John’s arms, which catch him just as John’s heart bursts with panic in his chest. And then as Greg and Molly let out frightened gasps from where they’re now standing at the front of the crowd, John slowly lays Sherlock down. Then the sound of an ambulance’s siren finally comes into hearing distance a moment later.


	8. You're Broken and He's Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John discuss what happened. Greg and Molly realise what a big mistake they've made. And you decide whether or not you're going to stay at university after everything that's happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God! And yes that's a slightly dramatic way to begin this chapter I know but I seriously need to thank you all so much because somehow I've now got 102 kudos on Shall We Dance My Dear? which is quite frankly astonishing! So thank you all for that! :D I send each and everyone of you the biggest of hugs! :D 
> 
> Also, on another note, and this seems to have happened really fast, but we've come to the end of this first part of the You're Broken and He's Beautiful series so I hope that you've enjoyed the story so far and will be back for part two, which I will do my best to get up as soon as possible! :D 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your support! :D And if you have a moment I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter or what you've thought of these first eight chapters as a whole. So please do get in touch! :)

When Sherlock wakes one of the first things he becomes aware of is that the world outside of his eyelids is dark, that and the fact that his muscles ache. So all in all he’s glad for the comfortable surface beneath him. And his fingers clutch at it for a moment and feel the thin material of it. Then they move across and knock into something firmer. 

 

And, “Sherlock?” a soft voice breathes. 

 

So Sherlock’s eyes flutter open and for a moment all they make out is darkness, before they latch onto a shape that’s sitting close to his bed. Then a moment later, once his eyes adjust, Sherlock realizes that the shape is actually John. John with his concerned eyes, tousled hair and earthy scent. 

 

So, “John,” he croaks, before he swallows at once to try and get rid of his dry throat. 

 

Yet John, knowing what Sherlock needs, gets up and turns to the jug of water that’s on the bedside cabinet, before he pours a bit of it into a plastic cup. Then as he looks back at where Sherlock’s lying once more he asks, “Can you sit up?” 

 

So, “Of course,” Sherlock replies a little indignantly, before he adds, “I'm not hurt,” as he sits up. But he moves too quickly and winces, which causes John to snort a little. 

 

Yet, “No you’re not,” John agrees as he passes the water to Sherlock and so Sherlock sips at it. Then his eyes flicker back to John as John goes on, “If you don’t count the cuts all over you, the concussion, not to mention the shock the Doctor said you went into, which I guess is hardly surprising, _considering_ …” before he trails off and Sherlock rolls his eyes, for he can more then live with a few cuts and bruises. But then he feels a prickle of uncertainty. 

 

So, “What about my brother and F/N?” he asks as evenly as he can. 

 

And, “They’re here too somewhere and neither of them have woken up yet, but they should be fine,” John reassures him and Sherlock nods now like that was the answer he expected and like he’s perfectly calm about the whole thing. But on the inside he knows how close it all was and he feels desperately thankful that you all made it out. Yet John takes his own similar feelings a step further when he says, “I don’t think you realize what you did Sherlock.” Then he goes on, “You saved both of their lives. If you hadn't pulled them out then they would have drowned and they should do more than thank you when they wake up, they should”-

 

But, “Why do I need them to thank me when I've got you exaggerating everything and making me out to be some kind of hero?” Sherlock interrupts with a small smile as his eyes glitter. 

 

So John closes his mouth and blushes a little, before he looks away. Then he looks back and says, “I don’t think what I've just said is an exaggeration,” and the look in his eyes makes Sherlock look away and fidget a little with the covering of the bed with his free hand. 

 

But then, suddenly impatient, Sherlock asks, “When can I leave?” 

 

So, “Huh?” John says, taken aback by the sudden question, not to mention the change in Sherlock’s mood. 

 

And, “The hospital,” Sherlock clarifies, before he asks, “When can I leave it?” 

 

So, “Oh, first thing in the morning I’d expect,” John begins, before he adds, “I think the Doctor just wants to check on you and then you should be good to go.” 

 

And, “Good,” Sherlock replies, and he looks more satisfied now. 

 

Then there’s a moment of silence between them during which Sherlock sips more of his water, before he plonks the half-empty cup back down on the bedside cabinet. And John wonders if he should bring up the one thing they haven’t talked about yet, which is of course the _kiss_. But then maybe it’s too soon he thinks, for Sherlock’s only just woken up after all and he’s probably got more than enough other things to think about. 

 

Yet Sherlock’s mind seems to be going down a similar route, for he adjusts his position and then asks, “Shouldn't you be out on a date with Jessica?” with a rough sort of edge to his voice. 

 

And John finds himself saying automatically; “It’s Trish,” before, “And not at this time of night no.” Then, “Anyway we broke up an hour ago by text,” he reveals and Sherlock looks at him. 

 

Then, “Shame,” Sherlock says though he doesn't sound the least bit unhappy about such a thing, and then, “Why?” he can’t help but ask as casually as he can. 

 

And John looks down for a moment. But when he looks back up at Sherlock there’s a small smile on his face and, “Well,” he begins, “Because I finally decided to stop making the same mistakes I made at school.” And Sherlock looks tentatively pleased now, before he listens intently as John takes a little breath of courage and then ploughs on, “And because I finally realized that the person I want to be with was there all along.” But as John finishes and sees that Sherlock’s face still looks a little puzzled he lets out a bit of an exasperated breath, before he clutches onto Sherlock’s hand with his own and says, “It’s you, I mean you Sherlock.”

 

And so Sherlock’s eyes, which are fixed on the sight of John’s hand over his own slide back up to him. Then as his mind begins to fully process what John’s just said a contented smile takes over his face. 

 

And John, relieved that Sherlock’s finally got the message, lets out a little breath, before he squeezes Sherlock’s hand. Then he says, “You’re a bloody idiot you know that?” and then when Sherlock’s brow furrows he explains, “After all the risks you took tonight,” and Sherlock opens his mouth to protest now so, “Yes I know it was for a very good cause,” John admits, before, “Just promise me one thing yeah?” he asks. 

 

And, “What?” Sherlock asks softly. 

 

So John lets out another little breath, before he says with a little smile, “That you’ll call or text me to come with you next time.”

 

And a small smile graces Sherlock’s own face, before he murmurs, “I promise.” 

 

*

 

Neither Greg nor Molly sleep that night. 

 

When they finally return to the house after getting the news that Mycroft, Sherlock and you are all stable at the hospital they just make themselves a cup of tea and sit around the dining room table next to each other. 

 

And perhaps they should be talking. But in the end they just mostly sit there in silence with their thoughts, whilst they both wish that they had more answers to all the questions that are running through their heads. For does the obvious confrontation that had happened mean that Moriarty was raping you after all? And what on earth had led to such a large confrontation in the first place? What had been that something deeper that Mycroft had been on about and that they’d both ignored?

 

Then finally Molly can’t take any more of the not knowing and the thought that both she and Greg must have made a dreadful mistake in turning their backs on you so she begins to cry. 

 

And Greg gets up and goes to fetch a clean tissue, before he passes it to her. 

 

Then, “I just”- Molly attempts to explain, but her voice is too choked up to continue so she just presses the tissue to her eyes instead. 

 

And Greg’s hand finds her shoulder now, before he says, “I know,” heavily as he sits back down. 

 

Then when the morning finally comes Greg makes them another cup of tea and a light breakfast though neither of them feel like eating much. 

 

And, “I'm not going to campus today,” he tells her as he watches her finish off her toast. 

 

So she looks at him, before she adds, “Me neither,” and then, “I just want to know what’s going on,” she confesses. 

 

And, “Me too,” Greg breathes, before he runs a weary hand across his jaw. 

 

But neither of them gets any answers that morning. And so when Sherlock finally arrives home that afternoon the pair of them both jump up when he enters and stops to survey them for a moment. 

 

Then, “I was supposed to be out this morning but the police wanted to question me,” Sherlock informs them, before he moves across towards them as his muscles ache and takes a seat by the table. 

 

So Greg and Molly exchange a worried glance, before they sit back down. 

 

Then, “What the bloody hell’s going on Sherlock?” Greg asks. 

 

Yet, “I don’t know everything,” Sherlock confesses. 

 

So, “Well just tell us what you do,” Greg begins with frustration in his tone, “Because _we've_ ”- and now he jerks his thumb towards Molly-“Been waiting all of last night and today just to find out anything.”

 

But Sherlock’s eyes simply glitter now, before he states with a fierce quietness, “Well perhaps if you hadn't turned your back on F/N then you wouldn't have needed to wait here because you’d already know”-

 

And Greg stands quickly now, then, “Listen,” he says, whilst he points a finger at Sherlock and breathes heavily, and Sherlock’s eyes flicker with something argumentative. But he does listen nonetheless as Greg goes on, “We might not be as smart as your brother or you but even we've figured out that we might have done wrong by F/N. But I'm not going to sit here and have you berate us when we don’t even know properly what you’re berating us for. So either you tell us what you know or we’ll wait for one of the others to,” and as he finishes he sits back down with a small thud and there's a tense expression on his face, whilst Molly wears an anxious one. 

 

So after one last glance in between them Sherlock tells them. He tells them about how Mycroft had seen a bruise on your arm and how he’d told him that he believed Moriarty was raping you and how they’d then gone on to find out what they had about Carl Powers. He tells them a rough account of what happened at the pool and how the last thing he remembers is being in the pool, before he’d woken up as Mycroft had been in the process of pulling him out. And then as he goes on to say how he’d rushed to try and diffuse all four of the bombs, whilst Mycroft had tried to get you out of the pool in time Molly looks sick and Greg very serious. Then, “So there you have it, that’s all I know,” Sherlock finishes. 

 

And, “Christ,” Greg breathes. 

 

Whilst, “Is F/N awake? I want to go and see her,” is Molly’s first reaction, for she feels determined to try and right her wrong. Not to mention that she instinctively wants to make sure that you’re as okay as you can be considering everything that’s gone on and help you if she can. 

 

But as Greg clutches at her hand to try and comfort her Sherlock looks at her and takes her in for a moment, before he tells her firmly, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 

And, “Why?” Molly asks as Greg begins to rub at her hand with his as soothingly as he can. 

 

But, “Because I think F/N could do with a little space right now,” Sherlock begins. Then he adds, “She’ll have to cope with the police interviewing her as it is,” and then as Molly opens her mouth to protest he finally finishes, “So if you really want to make it up with her then you’ll leave her be, at least until she gets out of hospital.”

 

And as Molly turns her head to look at Greg she knows that from the tentative look he’s giving her and from the way that he isn't protesting he thinks Sherlock’s right. So slowly she turns her head to look back at Sherlock and then she nods.

 

*

 

When Mycroft wakes his whole head feels heavy as if an elephant is sitting on top of it, and he can tell that he’s going to have one hell of a bruise on his back if it hasn't formed already, whilst in the meantime his fingers wriggle to try to ascertain where the hell he is. The surface beneath him feels smooth but firm, he notices, and he’s definitely lying down on his back so he’s more than likely in a bed. But it’s not his and he knows instinctively that he’s not back at home either. So, wanting more answers, he opens his eyes slowly. And they seem to take an age to adjust and focus and when they do he becomes aware of the hazy features of Sherlock looking down at him. 

 

Then he must be in hospital he realizes, and as he does his tongue adjusts in his mouth. And he swallows, before he just about manages to force the name, “Sherlock,” out of his dry mouth. 

 

So Sherlock, who had been wearing quite a serious expression upon his face as he watched his brother initially wake up, looks a little relieved. Then he murmurs with some amusement in his tone, “You've been very dramatic you know? By being the last one of us to wake up.”

 

And at his words the memory of everything slams into Mycroft’s body and Moriarty’s face flashes before his eyes. Then yours does and an anxious expression takes over his entire face, before he gets out, _“F/N?”_

 

So, “She’s sore, bruised and stiff and could probably do with sleeping for about a week. But I think she’s more emotionally scarred than physically so,” Sherlock begins. Yet as his brother looks serious now he realizes that he’s probably not saying the right thing so, “Saying that though she’s just down the hallway from you and she’ll be coming out tomorrow so you needn't look so worried brother dear,” he adds soothingly and Mycroft’s shoulders slump a little in relief. Though, in all honesty, he doesn't think that the weight will be properly lifted from them until he sees you. 

 

Then he points across to the water jug that’s on the bedside cabinet beside him so Sherlock helps him up into a sitting position and props his pillow up behind him, before he pours a little water into a plastic cup and hands it carefully across.

 

And Mycroft drinks it greedily for a moment, before, “What happened? How did we all get out alive?” he asks as his eyes go back to his brother. 

 

So, “I managed to stop two of the devices in time and then when the others went off they were only strong enough to take out the outside wall. The debris nearly hit you both as you went flying. But as soon as I could I pulled you out of the swimming pool and went to find F/N. By that point though there were other people there and they called for an ambulance.”

 

So, “Moriarty?” Mycroft asks. 

 

And, “Gone,” Sherlock says with a little shrug, before he adds, “God knows where.” Then, “He must have scarpered long before the bombs went off. John showed me his room after. It’s completely empty, everything’s gone,” Sherlock explains, and Mycroft nods, feeling relieved. 

 

Then, “Can I see F/N?” he asks as his mind turns back to you and how relieved you must feel to know that Moriarty’s left. 

 

But, “No, you only just woke up and Mummy will kill me if I let you move out of this bed,” Sherlock replies and Mycroft stares at him questioningly now so, “She was here yesterday, Father too, though neither them nor anyone else seems to know what really happened,” Sherlock explains, before he adds, “Just us,” with some satisfaction in his tone. Then, “Oh, the police will probably want to have a word with you too. They've already spoken to F/N and I,” he says as an afterthought.

 

So, “What did you tell them?” Mycroft asks. 

 

And, “Not the truth,” Sherlock replies, which makes Mycroft smile. Then, “I just said we were all messing about by the pool when all of a sudden something exploded. And since F/N and you were still in the pool it was left to me to get you both out. Then I corroborated with F/N so she’d say the same thing.” 

 

So Mycroft nods. But then when a moment later he sees Sherlock sneaking a look at his watch Mycroft takes his brother in more, before he feels a pang of a happiness that’s bitter-sweet inside him as he realizes something. Then, “If you have to go give John my regards won’t you?” he says and he feels momentarily amused at the way Sherlock’s eyes widen as they fix upon him once more, before a small smile graces his face. 

 

And, not knowing what to say to that, Sherlock just nods, before he leaves. 

 

*

 

True to Sherlock’s word the police come around that evening and so Mycroft answers their questions in the vague manner as suggested by Sherlock, which seems to do the trick, even if they do leave looking unsatisfied about the whole thing. For even the police can’t have failed to notice something odd about someone targeting a shut swimming pool. Yet still, Mycroft senses that with no forthcoming information the police’s investigation will hit a standstill and be marked as closed within a few months where it will then, perhaps be left to fester away in a drawer for the rest of eternity. And the thought that all this might now be drawing to a close makes him let out a breath of relief, before he slips further back down into his hospital bed and closes his eyes. 

 

*

 

That night you slip out of bed and pull your dressing gown on over your hospital gown, before you wander past all the shadowy figures that are silent in their beds and out of the ward you’re on. Then you slip past where the nurses are gathered gossiping over their tea by the information desk, before you go further down the hallway and finally take a left into the ward that Sherlock told you Mycroft is on. And as you do so you slow down your pace a little, not that you were going particularly fast before, so that you don’t miss him. But you needn't have worried as he catches your eyes as soon as you see him in the bed at the far end, for the moonlight coming through the window glints off his auburn hair and makes it shine. So you make your way towards him, before you drop into the vacant seat by his bedside so that your back is to the window. Then you look at him. He’s asleep, his body facing you and his head resting on one hand and he looks so calm and peaceful that you’re worried that you might disturb him. But still, you know it will be the last time you get the chance to, so slowly you reach your hand across to brush the back of it against his hair. It feels just as soft as you remember it being, and you stroke it for a moment, before you pause when he wrinkles his nose. Then you continue once he becomes still again.

 

And then slowly you draw your hand back and stare at his face as you murmur, “He probably told you everything didn't he?” But Mycroft of course doesn't reply. So, “In that case I guess this is the only way I’ll get to talk to you, when you’re asleep and you can’t judge me for what I did…but anyway this is also the last time I’ll ever get to talk to you because I'm leaving. And maybe you won’t understand. Or maybe you will. But I have to, I can’t stay here, not after everything,” you go on, and you raise your hand to your nose momentarily as you sniff now, before you lower it once more back to your lap. Then you continue, “And I wish I could say all this stuff to you when you’re awake because you deserve to hear it. But I can’t. So just in case some of it somehow seeps through to you, and because it’s the last chance I’ll ever get, I want to thank you. You were the only one who really stood by me through everything. The only one who believed in me right from the start even though you had no reason to. And you always helped me when you could, with the studying and everything. And you…you made me feel nice and safe like nothing could ever touch me when I was with you…and…” and now tears roll down your face because you don’t want to say goodbye to this man. So you lean forwards and press your face gently against his shoulder, before you whisper as you pull back, “And I love you.” Then you dart forwards to press a clumsy kiss to his forehead, and as you do a tear falls down from your face onto his, before you pull away and hurriedly stride back to your ward. 

 

When Mycroft wakes a few moments later he can’t understand why his face is wet.

 

*

 

Mycroft is allowed to leave the hospital two days later so he takes a taxi back to the house. And he knows it sounds foolish but he’s almost surprised to see that it looks exactly the way it always has despite the events that have taken place during the past few days. 

 

Whilst he also feels surprised when, as he makes his way gingerly down the black steps, his body still bruised and aching from the whole affair, the door opens. And for a moment his heart skips a beat as he thinks it might be you. But it isn't. It’s Greg and Molly and his body stiffens. But, again to his surprise, they greet him with soothing words and gentle hugs, before they lead the way to the dining room table where Sherlock’s waiting. 

 

And Mycroft’s heart falls in his chest, for he can sense that you’re not there now, but still he can’t help but ask, _“F/N?”_

 

And Molly and Greg exchange an anxious look. 

 

But it is Sherlock who stands up. Sherlock who says, “She’s gone,” so Mycroft looks across at him. 

 

Yet it’s Molly who speaks next. Molly who says in a rush, “She came back yesterday and as soon as she did she started to pack up all her things. We tried to talk to her and tell her not to go, we really did, but she didn't say a word and I'm not sure if she was even listening properly. She just left as soon as she could,” and as she pauses for breath now her face looks pained and her hands wave about in her desperation. Then she starts, “Oh God Mycroft I'm so sorry, we should have listened, we should have”- before she breaks off, for Mycroft, too tired to listen to what Greg and she ought to have done any more just leaves them for the peace and quiet of his room. 

 

But Molly simply exchanges another anxious look with Greg, before she makes to go after Mycroft. 

 

Yet, “Leave him,” Sherlock says and Molly looks across to see that Sherlock’s sitting down by the table once more. Then when her eyes fix on him he tells her curtly, “He wants to be alone,” so Molly’s hands falter in the air for a moment, before she nods and they fall back down to her side. 

 

*

 

Mycroft spends the rest of the day and evening locked up in his room. He doesn't even leave it to eat and even though Molly knocks upon his door and asks if she can bring a tray of food in for him he tells her to, _‘Please leave,’_ and that he’s not hungry even though he is and even though his stomach’s rumbling like crazy. But food can’t comfort him now he knows. So instead he just sits on his bed and thinks of you. And it’s not like he’s truly surprised that you’re not here he thinks. For even in the taxi on the way here he hadn't let himself get his hopes up too much. But still that doesn't stop him from wishing that you were. And then he wonders where you are, before he thinks that you've probably gone back to Brighton, even though you don’t seem to like it there much. But still he remembers you saying that your parents are buried there and he can’t think of anywhere else where you’d go. Unless there’s a place that’s special to you that you haven’t told him about he thinks suddenly. And as he remembers all the lies you've told him he just gets the sense that this particular possibility could be all the more likely after all so his heart sinks. Then he wonders vaguely whether you’ll return after the Easter holidays, though he feels wary at the moment, when you seem so lost to him, about getting his hopes up for that too. 

 

And his thoughts go round and round in much the same direction, whilst the ache he feels inside his chest for you grows and grows for the rest of the evening. 

 

Then, just after two o’ clock in the morning when he feels sure that everyone else must be asleep, he finally moves from his bed at long last and steps outside his room. 

 

Everything’s in darkness but knowing his way by now he manages to pad assuredly out of the dining room and towards the stairs. Then he creeps up them and goes to stand outside your door. And for a moment he’s not sure whether he can actually enter and so he just takes a little breath, before he swallows and tries to summon enough courage inside himself to do so. Then, when he can no longer bear being so close but not actually inside something that represents you so much he swallows again, before he pushes the door gently open and switches the light on as he steps inside. But what he sees is like being punched in the chest, for everything’s gone. All your books, _everything_. And he strides across to your wardrobe, praying inside his head as he does so that something will be left there, just something to let him know that you’ll be coming back, that you haven’t left him. But when he pries it open it’s empty too and so feeling despondent he goes to lie on your bed. The pillow still smells of you and he breathes you in as tears begin to roll down his face and his heart misses you more than he could have ever imagined.

 

Meanwhile, in his own room, Sherlock stirs out of his sleep and then listens. For he knows that something caused him to wake up. He just doesn't know what. Then he realizes that he can hear someone moving about in your room and his heart gives a bit of a jolt, whilst his mind instantly pictures it being Moriarty. So he rolls out of bed silently and lands stealthily on the floor, before he pads out of the room. And his heart gives another jolt when he sees the light that’s coming from your room, before he swallows and braces himself as he creeps closer. Then once he’s standing outside your door he pauses to listen, before carefully he pushes the door a little ajar so that he might peer inside. But of course it isn't Moriarty there but Mycroft, and Sherlock lets out a little breath now as his eyes gaze at him. For his brother’s curled up in the foetal position on your bed with his back turned to the door, and the slight trembling of his shoulders every now and again along with the little breathy gasping noises that leave his mouth tell Sherlock that he’s crying. And so for a moment Sherlock just stares at him, whilst his heart aches. Then, knowing that his brother won’t want anyone to see him like that, he withdraws his head and closes the door softly. 

 

But Mycroft’s ears pick up the sound and his breath catches tight inside him as he looks over his shoulder. Yet the door’s still shut. So perhaps he just imagined it or perhaps he just heard someone on their way to the bathroom he thinks. Then he rests his head on your pillow and goes back to wishing that you were there beside him. 

 

*

 

Once you got back to Brighton you didn't go to Evie’s again. You couldn't face it and you thought that she’d probably turn you away anyway. So instead you've just been staying in the cheapest hotel you could find and leaving it only to take the occasional walk to the sea front. And you keep thinking that you must go to your parent’s graves, you _long_ to go there in fact, but every time you think you actually will, you lose your nerve. You even made it as far as buying flowers for their graves once, but you just couldn't face it so you’d just left them on the pavement and hurriedly turned back. And you know that if they were alive they’d be so disappointed in you. For you couldn't even get out of this place for a year without everything going wrong. And now you’re a university drop-out with no job and no prospects. For now that you've actually gone through with it and left you know that there’s no way you’ll ever go back to that university again. No way that you’ll ever see the friends you’d thought you’d made there once more…Especially not Mycroft who now surely knows everything, and your heart pangs as you turn onto your side in your hotel bed. For what must he think of you? But though your heart aches for him you don’t cry. For it’s like you said at the hospital, you never deserved him anyway. You’re broken and he’s beautiful. It’s just a fact. And the best thing you can do now, you know, is not forget him exactly but move on. Move on, work out a proper plan, find a better place to stay and see about getting a job. But still, even though you know what needs to be done, what _must_ be done, in the silent of the night you can’t help but get out of bed and go across to the small set of shelves opposite your bed by the open wardrobe. For on the middle one you've created a sort of shrine with all the precious things you collected during your time at university. Mycroft’s handkerchief is there-washed of course-and you run it in between your hands now, taking a little comfort from how soft it feels, before you trace your fingers over his initials and think of him longingly as you do so. Whilst the necklace that Molly gave you is there too, and as you move your fingers to trace around the curve of the butterfly’s wings your mind naturally goes to when Mycroft had put it on you. He’d been so close to you then you think. And at the memory of it all your breath hitches in your chest. Whilst there too are the stickers you got from Greg’s collection of freebies during Fresher’s week, and God how long ago does that feel now? You think as you remember the way Sherlock embarrassed Mycroft that night and the way that Mycroft had looked at you, before he left for his room. Then you move further across to the left where you've hung up Mycroft’s coat in the free space there and you pull the arm of it towards you now, still on its hanger, before you bow your head to smell it. But the smell of him is fading to be replaced by yours and even when you bury your head by the collar of it you know that you won’t be able to smell him on it for much longer and the thought makes you feel sad. So sad that you let it drop back down to hang freely once more, before you turn back to bed as the ache in your chest grows even stronger. 

 

*

 

When Mycroft wakes he feels disorientated at first and his head jerks up, before he sits up properly. Then he puts a hand to his forehead and lets out a little groan as the memory of everything, and in particular the fact that you’re not there, comes back to him, before he pushes himself off your bed reluctantly and goes downstairs for breakfast. 

 

Molly, Greg and Sherlock are there talking by the dining table, though they appear to have largely finished their breakfast and he wonders now if they were waiting for him. If they were though although their conversation falters and they all look at him as he approaches none of them say anything about the fact that he’s coming from a different direction than he should be. 

 

So, “Morning,” he says a little heavily as he sits in his usual chair, before his heart pangs as his eyes catch sight of your empty chair beside his. 

 

And Molly, catching his gaze, says, “We were saying that since it’s a Saturday and such a nice day outside we should go for a walk together.”

 

So, “Where to?” Mycroft asks with averted eyes as he draws two pieces of toast towards him now and begins to butter them, whilst his stomach only begins to rumble more fiercely at the promise of food. And out of the corner of his eye he can see Molly looking encouraged by the fact that he hadn't shot the idea down straight away. 

 

So, “Maybe to the park and around a few of the shops?” Molly goes on hopefully. 

 

Yet Mycroft shakes his head. Then, “I think I’d prefer to stay home today,” he says. 

 

But, “It might be nice for you to get out a bit, after being cooped up in hospital,” Molly says persistently. 

 

And, “Yeah, a chance to get some sunshine on that face of yours eh Mycroft?” Greg says as he tries to help Molly’s cause. 

 

But, “Perhaps some other time,” Mycroft tells them dismissively. 

 

And Molly sighs a bit now. Then, “Well, if you’re going to stay here I’ll give you F/N’s number,” Molly says determinedly, before as Mycroft looks up at her with his interest suddenly heightened she goes on, “You can at least try to ring her.”

 

And Mycroft swallows now, before he looks faintly pleased by this new development. Then, “Thank you,” he says as his eyes flick up to Molly’s briefly, before he goes back to buttering his toast with an increased kind of vigour. 

 

So, “You’re welcome,” Molly replies with a small smile as she watches him, whilst the corner of Sherlock’s lip quirks upwards and Greg looks happier as they do the same. 

 

Then when Mycroft goes back to his room he tugs out the slip of paper that Molly wrote your number on and lays it upon his desk, before he sits down by it and takes his mobile out. And for a few moments he just rolls the device in between his hands, whilst he contemplates it all. Then he takes a little breath, before he taps your number in and presses to call. And as soon as it begins to ring his heart jumps unevenly in his chest and his hands begin to get clammy and his throat dry so he swallows. But he needn't have bothered. For instead of your voice at the other end all he gets is the answer phone machine. Yet still determined to get some sort of message to you he begins, “F/N?” uncertainly. Then, “I hope you don’t mind,” he goes on now, “But Molly gave me your number,” before he feels frustrated with himself, for he’s being too formal and why can’t he ever say what he really wants to, what he really _needs_ to when he talks to you? So, “Anyway,” he continues, as he runs his free hand through his hair, “I was, well, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I’d really like to talk to you. So maybe you could call me back?” and as he clicks off he still feels frustrated and disappointed with himself. For he’d been so close to saying that he’d been sad not to see you after he came out of hospital and so close to saying that he misses you when he’d chickened out and gone back to being formal again. So he huffs out a breath. Then he wonders if he should try to leave another message, but he’s worried that you’d think him weird or be put off by him leaving another message so soon after the last one. So instead he just goes back to missing you as he waits for you to ring. 

 

But you never do.

 

*

 

Your free hand fidgets and you brace yourself as you listen to Mycroft’s message. Then once you have you let out a little breath, whilst your finger trembles slightly as it hovers over the button, which will delete the message for good. For you can’t bear to ring him and you can’t bear to talk to him. But at the same time you find that you can’t bear to delete his message either. For it might be the last time you ever hear his voice after all. The last time you ever hear his voice saying anything to you. So in the end you don’t. 

 

*

 

Yet as it turns out it isn't the last time you ever hear his voice. For he leaves another couple of messages over the next few days, saying much the same as the first one. But as you listen to them repeatedly, whilst you sit on your bed in the hotel room you think that beneath what he’s saying it sounds as if he really wants to say something else to you, and you wish he just would. In fact you wish he’d just yell or speak disappointed words to you if that’s what he wants and if that’s what it’ll take to get it out of his system so that you might then be able to get him out of yours. 

 

*

 

The Easter holidays come to an end and everyone who went home for them returns but you. And as Mycroft’s heart does the now familiar tumble down his chest at the sight of your empty chair at breakfast he decides that he’s had enough. For he hasn't spent the whole year falling in love with every part of you only to let you walk out of his life now and he’s damned if he’s going to let you do such a thing. So he eats his breakfast swiftly with a determined gleam in his eyes as he plots out a plan. Then before Greg and Molly can leave for campus he announces, “I'm going to Brighton,” so Molly and Greg both falter, before they look back at him, whilst Sherlock, who’s still sitting by the table, raises his eyebrows. 

 

Then, “Oh, when?” Molly finally asks. 

 

So, “Today,” Mycroft says determinedly as he puffs out his chest a little. 

 

And, “Today?” Molly exclaims now with surprise in her tone, before she stammers out, “B-But don’t you have lectures to go to?”

 

Yet, “I'm sure one day or two won’t hurt,” Mycroft says, for he knows that he has to do it today or he never will and he’s not going to let the small matter of university lectures get in his way. 

 

And Molly exchanges a slightly alarmed look with Greg now, for if Mycroft’s willing to skip lectures then he must _really_ have it bad for you.

 

Then, “Well, all right, in that case good luck with winning her heart and all that,” Greg says, and he sounds both uncertain and amused all at the same time as he claps Mycroft on the shoulder now. But then when Mycroft nods, before he pales visibly as he takes Greg’s words in more Greg adds with exasperation in his tone, “That’s what you’re going there for right? To win her heart?”

 

But, “I-I was just going to bring her back,” Mycroft admits uncertainly with his head bowed, whilst panic rises inside him. And then as Greg lets out a frustrated groan he looks up and says defensively, “She might not be ready for another relationship yet.”

 

But Greg sighs now. Then he sits back down and says, “Listen mate,” so Mycroft looks at him. Then, “This little dance you've been doing with her the whole year, it’s very sweet, _admirable_ some would say with you being a gentleman and all of that,” Greg goes on, before he pauses briefly, whilst he licks his lips as he wonders how to continue. “But now’s not the time for all that, now’s the time for big gestures,” he states, and then as Mycroft opens his mouth he goes on hurriedly, “Yeah I know, you going to Brighton after her, that’s a pretty big gesture. No doubt about that. But you need to do something more than that. You need to tell her how you feel.”

 

And Mycroft swallows now as he averts his gaze and runs a hand through his hair. Then as something wriggles in his stomach he looks back at Greg and confesses with frustration in his tone, “I don’t know how to,” before he tries to explain, “Every time I get close to doing so, or every time I think something might happen, it’s either not the right time or I just can’t go through with it.”

 

But Greg’s not accepting that as an excuse. So, “You’ll just have to make it the right time and find some way of going through with it,” he tells Mycroft, before he adds even more firmly, “Because if you’re not honest with her now then she’ll sense it a mile off and you’ll have a hard time convincing her to come back let me tell you,” and Mycroft swallows now. Then he goes back to his breakfast as he thinks about it all but his toast seems to stick in his throat. 

 

And sensing such inner turmoil in the end Molly and Greg decide to skip their first lectures of the day to see him off and so along with Sherlock they watch from the doorstep as he walks off down the street towards the station with a small light brown rucksack on his back. 

 

Then Greg says, “He’s not going to do it is he?” with a bit of a sigh as he watches Mycroft get further and further away. 

 

And, “I’ll be going around with John taking bets later if you want to make a wager,” Sherlock quips. 

 

But, “He’ll be fine as long as he does what you told him to,” Molly says in a little desperate voice, before she links her hand with Greg’s. And then when he smiles down at her she states a little teasingly, “By the way I don’t recall you doing a big gesture when we got together.”

 

And Greg barks out a laugh now, before he says a little huskily, “Well, I’ll just have to make up for that then, won’t I?” and as he bends down to kiss her and she makes a satisfied noise in her throat Sherlock lets out a groan of annoyance and then turns to retreat back into the house. 

 

* 

 

As Mycroft gets closer and closer to Brighton he tries to imagine what it must have been like for you going back there at Christmas. So he strips away the lush green landscapes that look beautiful from the train window and instead tries to imagine them in winter, when the earth would look gloomy, brown and cracked, when the trees would be bare of leaves and look almost skeletal, when the wind might have been blowing and the rain coming down in diagonal torrents. And then he adds that to what you’d told him about your parents and the fact that a Christmas without them would have been waiting for you, along with Brighton not feeling like your home and all the memories of Carl and Moriarty that must have been haunting your mind and he can see why you didn't want to go back there. In fact he can _almost_ see why it would have drawn you towards someone like Rufus…

 

And then when he finally gets off the train and finds Brighton already fairly busy with tourists for the time of year he tries to imagine what it would be like without them completely, and again he gets the sense of the drab place that you must have returned to. 

 

Then as he walks along the prom, past some excited children and couples eating ice cream, his mind turns back to the present and he wonders where you might be. And he supposes that he could always go to the tourist information centre if he doesn't just come across you, which seems likely considering all the people, and get a map of the place. And perhaps he could find out where the nearest cemeteries are too, though he doesn't much like the thought of trying to convince you to return to university with him as you stand over your parents’ graves. But if he _has_ too…

 

And in the next moment he huffs out a sigh at such thoughts. Then he moves away from where he’d come to a stop to look out towards the sea and walks further down, whilst he thinks about things some more. But though, what with all the people, he looks for you the best he can along the prom he can’t see you anywhere. So he goes off down the closest street instead and his head swings hopefully about as he looks for you. But he only grows more and more desperate when he goes down street after street and doesn't see you anywhere. Not to mention that he’s starting to get hungry too. So as afternoon starts to become early evening he crosses the road towards the closest pub-The Bear and Crown-and then as he steps through the open door he just stops dead. For there you are, standing by the bar just in front of him, with your back turned to him. So he swallows and just takes you in for another moment, for he can hardly believe that you’re really there in front of him. Then he strides forwards and says as he stops beside you, “Here, let me get you that.”

 

And your mouth drops open as your head turns to see him there, whilst his breath hitches in his chest. Then he smiles tentatively at you as his eyes lock with yours. 

 

And, _“Mycroft,”_ you say with a start when you’re finally capable of speech once more, before you ask him, “What are you doing here?” 

 

So, “I came to find you. I wanted to ask you why you haven’t come back to university,” he says as he looks at you, before he averts his eyes so that he can rummage in his trouser pocket for his wallet. Then he takes it out, whilst you still stare at him and opens it to pass a crisp ten pound note to the barman as said barman hands you, your drink, before he orders one for himself. 

 

And you’re still staring at Mycroft incredulously when the barman passes his drink across to him and hands him his change. So Mycroft drops the change back into his wallet, closes it with a snap and puts it back into his pocket, before he turns to you. Then, with his hand around the middle of his glass, he asks you, “Shall we?” as he nods to a table just across from the bar. 

 

So, still in a bit of a daze, you nod, before you lead the way and sit on the long wooden bench by the wall, whilst he takes the wooden chair on the other side of the table so that he’s sitting directly opposite you. 

 

Then as he sips his drink and contemplates how to properly begin you ask, “Did you _really_ come here just to ask me why I haven’t come back?” whilst your heart can’t help but beat hopefully in your chest.

 

And he lowers his drink slowly onto a coaster, before he licks the froth off his mouth with his tongue in an innocent fashion as he stares consideringly at you. Then, “Well, I tried to call you but you weren't answering. So I didn't see that I had much choice,” he tells you evenly. 

 

And you stare at the top of your drink for a moment now, before you tell him quietly, “I would have thought that the reason for me doing both things would have been obvious to you.”

 

Yet, “I believe I told you once that nothing you’re hiding could ever make me not want to talk to you ever again,” Mycroft reminds you with certainty now so you look up at him. 

 

Then, “Carl,” you whisper through trembling lips. 

 

So Mycroft swallows, before he begins, “What happened wasn't your fault”-

 

“But I could have reported Moriarty as soon as I sensed something wasn't right but I didn't do anything,” you begin, “And then when he was in the pool I could have yelled or done something, _anything_ , but still I didn't”-

 

Yet, “How could you have known what was going to unfold? You were just a child yourself,” Mycroft interrupts you.

 

But, “I kept it a secret all this time”- you begin anxiously. 

 

And, “It’s probably a good thing you did,” Mycroft says, and when you look at him incredulously he goes on, “I think it’s far better for Carl’s family to believe that he died in a tragic accident doing something that he loved than for them to know that he was murdered. Don’t you?” yet you just swallow, and he can see that you’re still uncomfortable about what happened and he realizes now that for you it will never be over. That you’ll have to live with all those bad choices you made in that one moment of time for the rest of your life. 

 

But he needs you to know that you don’t have to deal with it all on your own any more and that there are people out there who are willing to help you through it all if you’ll let them. So, “Will you come back to university with me?” he asks, before at your doubtful expression he goes on, “Molly and Gregory understand everything now. They’re completely apologetic about their behaviour and they've really missed you. Everyone has,” and he pauses once more now to take you properly in. Your eyes are fixed on him and your lips are slightly parted as if you’re waiting, no _hoping_ , that he’ll say something more. And finally he acts. He mutters, “Damn it, _I've_ missed you,” and then he leans across out of his seat to grasp your cheek with his hand, before he presses his lips to yours. 

 

And you let out a breath of surprise, before your eyes slide automatically shut, whilst your hands automatically go up to his shoulders as you begin to kiss him back. 

 

The kiss is soft and tender but with something almost desperate mixed in it too.

 

And then all too soon Mycroft’s pulling away, for he feels the need to say, “I've missed you _so_ , so much”- but then the rest of his words are drowned out as you draw him to you once more with your hands around the back of his neck so that you can kiss him again because you don’t want him to talk right now. You just want to spend the rest of your life kissing him and feeling his soft, perfect lips against yours. 

 

And he smiles into the kiss, before he kisses you back eagerly. Then when he finally pulls away for air and sits back down with a small thud he breathes, “So will you come back to university now?” as he looks at you hopefully. 

 

And a small smile toys around your face, for you've certainly been given more of an incentive. Yet even so you still feel a bit uncertain so, “I don’t know,” you begin, before you go on pessimistically, “I've missed so much and it isn't like I was that good at it all in the first place”-

 

But, “I could tutor you again,” Mycroft interrupts you. 

 

Yet you haven’t forgotten what happened before, so, “You’ll have exams too,” you remind him and he has the decency to look embarrassed. 

 

Then, “Do you know why I stopped them the first time?” he asks you, and before you can even respond he goes on, “It wasn't because I couldn't cope with tutoring you on top of my own exams. It was because I was jealous of Rufus,” and your lips part uncertainly now. So, “I was going to ask you out the day you came back from Brighton after Christmas,” Mycroft explains, before he adds, “Gregory, Molly and my brother all knew about it. And then you came back and I saw quite clearly from the mark on your neck that you had a boyfriend and I couldn't bear it…” and he trails off now. 

 

Then, “ _That’s_ why you were so horrible to me,” you breathe, and he nods, as he looks ashamed of himself. And then your lip quirks upwards in a sort of ironic, sad smile, before you ask him, “Do you know why I went out with Rufus?” and he shakes his head now. So, “Because I felt so depressed after coming back here that I’d convinced myself you’d never see me in that way,” you confess, and he runs a hand through his hair and huffs out a breath now. 

 

Then for a moment the pair of you just look away from each other, and as you do you can’t help but think that if everything with Moriarty had not come to get in the way then you might have already been going out with Mycroft for several months, assuming of course that the pair of you would have gotten your acts together more quickly. And so, when you look back at each other, feeling determined not to waste any more time, you say immediately, “Let’s get out of here.” Then when his eyes dart from you down to your barely touched drinks you grab at his hand and tug him out of there. 

 

And then as soon as you’re outside where the sky’s casting everything in the last light of the evening you turn and push him up against the wall so that you can kiss him properly. And his hands go to encircle your waist, before his head spins with it all as you pull away. 

 

Then when he can think coherently enough to speak again he asks you, “Where are you staying?”

 

But your face falls a little and you step back from him as you say, “Just in a cheap hotel that’s off a street down near the prom.”

 

Yet, “You've made it sound so delightful that I think I might stay the night there myself, before I hopefully get to accompany you back to university tomorrow,” Mycroft says in a light, teasing tone so you grin at him, before you push him playfully on the arm. 

 

Then as you walk off down the street together he puts an arm around your waist and smiles down at you, feeling lighter than he’s done in weeks. And when you put your arm around his waist he feels lighter still. Then you tell him, “I’ll come back with you,” and he feels like if it weren't for your arm around his waist he might float off completely.

 

So, “Good,” he replies firmly as his heart soars.

 

And then when you get to the hotel you go with Mycroft to the reception desk to sort out his room, before once he’s got his key and safely stowed it in his pocket you lead him to yours. Yet once you get inside you can’t help but swallow in embarrassment as you remember about the shrine that’s on the middle shelf in plain view, before you hope that he won’t notice it. 

 

But of course he does, and as he stops in front of it and carefully takes in the objects your breath hitches in your chest as you stand a little away from him and watch him. 

 

Then he turns to you and says quietly, “I'm glad you were thinking of us even when you weren't with us,” as his eyes fix on yours, and you can’t possibly know from his words how touched he feels from the sight of them. 

 

So instead you think now that you’d barely stopped thinking of them, especially _him_ , but you’re too embarrassed to tell him such a thing so you just nod. Then you run an awkward hand through your hair as you ask him, “Are you hungry?” before you suggest, “I could order room service.” And then you add more uncertainly, “Or-or we could always go back down and eat in the restaurant?” 

 

But, “Room service sounds fine,” he tells you so you smile in relief, before you head across to the phone. 

 

And between the pair of you, you end up ordering a mini feast. There’s salad and pasta in this fancy sauce along with meatballs, potato wedges, not to mention the ice cream and blueberries and red wine. 

 

And as you end up having a picnic on the floor with it all, your body curved, your legs off to the side of you, the glass of wine by the hand that’s on the floor and Mycroft just across from you, you can’t help but tilt your head back for a moment and bask in how glorious this all feels. For who could have thought just yesterday when you were on your own and miserable that all this was in store for you?

 

And as Mycroft catches your peaceful expression when his hand reaches for another of the potato wedges for a moment he just freezes up and stares at how beautiful and free you look. 

 

Then, unable to resist, he crawls carefully in between all the food until he’s sat on his knees before you. And just as your eyes flick open as you become aware of his presence he presses his lips to yours. 

 

Then, at the surprise, you moan into his mouth, before your hands scrabble to clutch onto the back of his shirt, whilst his go up to cup your face as he kisses you all the time. And your bodies push against each other’s, before you lose your balance and pull him down with you. His body nearly catches against your wine, but thankfully it doesn't tip over. Then when he realizes he’s half on top of you he makes to move away. But you cup your hands around the back of his neck and draw him down to you so that you end up kissing again instead. 

 

Then a few moments later as he pulls away from you breathlessly he gets out, “We should probably finish dinner, before it gets cold,” so you nod. For neither of you are ready for anything more just yet. 

 

Then after dinner’s finished and the empty crockery is all stacked together neatly on two trays just outside your room you both sit on the bed and lean against the headrest together as you cuddle and talk. 

 

And you feel so full from the meal and satisfied with how the day’s gone, for it feels like the first good day that you've had in a long while, that it’s not all too long, before you feel yourself growing sleepy. 

 

And when your body gets increasingly lower and your head slumps against Mycroft’s chest, Mycroft thinks that it might be time for him to go. For even though he’s reluctant to leave you he doesn't want you to think that you have to stay awake for his benefit either. So, “F/N?” he murmurs, “I think I’ll go to my room now so you can get some sleep.”

 

But you lift your head off his chest, before you say, _“Oh,”_ in a slightly startled voice. 

 

So, “You are tired aren't you?” he checks, just in case he’s misunderstood that fact, even though he feels quite sure that he hasn't. 

 

And, “Yes of course,” you agree. But then as Mycroft begins to turn away from you and slide towards the edge of the bed you grab at his hand. Then when he looks back around at you, you bite at your lip uncertainly, before as he begins to look a bit concerned for you, you say, “A-Actually I was hoping that maybe you’d hold me tonight?”

 

And surprise fills his eyes, whilst his breath hitches in his chest, before he breathes, “Are you sure?” so you nod now. 

 

Then, “I-I know you've paid for your room and everything”- you begin. 

 

But, “It’s fine,” he interrupts you, because though he’s surprised if it’s what you want then he’s more than happy to give it to you, and you smile shyly at him. 

 

Then, “Right”- Mycroft says at the same time you say, “Um”- before he gestures for you to go first, just like he did the last time you spoke at the same time. 

 

So, “I was just thinking we’d better get changed then,” you tell him, whilst you hope that he doesn't think any less of you, for knowing that you need him tonight. 

 

But you feel more reassured when he says with a soft smile, “I was just thinking the same thing.”

 

And you both smile at each other for a moment, before you let him use the bathroom to change in, whilst you change in the room itself. 

 

And a few minutes later when he slips back to you he sees that you’re already underneath the duvet ready with your eyes turned towards him, and they seem to shine in the single soft light of the lamp on the bedside cabinet. 

 

But the sight of you waiting so expectantly for him only makes him feel nervous again. And when he stops beside the side of the bed that you’re not on and you turn to look at him he asks, “Are you sure about this?”

 

So, “Yes,” you tell him firmly, before you reach out your hand towards him. 

 

And he takes it and caresses it for a moment, feeling stronger as he does so, before he swallows. Then he lets go of it as he pushes back his side of the duvet a little. 

 

And then when he tentatively gets in beside you a moment later you smile a little, before you slide back down and turn your back to him. 

 

Then for a moment, not knowing what to do, he just stares at your back. But when you reach your hand back towards him he slides down himself, before he tentatively turns on his side towards you and reaches to place a delicate hand on your waist. 

 

Yet it’s so delicate though that you can barely feel it. And you can’t help but smile, before you look over your shoulder at him, which makes him ask, “Is that all right?” 

 

So you tell him softly, “You can hold me closer if you want.”

 

And Mycroft swallows now, before he shifts closer to you. Then when his chest brushes against your back both of your hearts jolt in your chests for a moment, before he tightens his grip on you slightly. And you shift back a little so that he’s holding you more firmly in his arms. 

 

Then, “Is that better?” he asks. 

 

So, _“Yes,”_ you breathe in a satisfied kind of manner and he smiles, before, feeling at peace once more, you both close your eyes. 

 

*

 

Moriarty’s over you again, before you can stop him. And though you push against his chest with your hands the weight of him is like having a brick on you, dragging you down into the dark depths. 

 

Not only that but it soon transpires that this time he’s the one taking your clothes off, and as his hands roam all across your body it’s like they leave a trace of slime on everywhere they touch until there’s nowhere that they haven’t and you’re covered in the stuff. 

 

You feel like you can’t breathe as tears roll down your face and you make these little gasping noises as if you’re on the verge of having a panic attack because you know what’s coming and you can’t stop it. You can’t do anything. Any moment now he’ll be inside you and there’s nothing you can do, nothing at all and-

 

“F/N? F/N? Wake up, come on, please wake up,” a desperate voice interrupts the scene and your eyes jerk open and a rattling teary gasp leaves your mouth as your body half-sits up automatically. 

 

But it’s dark and someone’s hands are on your shoulders and your heart jerks inside your chest because you haven’t left the nightmare at all, you’re still in it. And you panic even more now, for you must have somehow fallen asleep when Moriarty was doing what he was to you and you feel angry with yourself for you've only gone and made yourself more vulnerable to him. So you wriggle against his grasp on your shoulders, whilst your body feels sweaty and you gasp out. But then you feel him struggling to hold onto you and shifting closer so that he’s straddling your waist. So you shove your elbow into where you hope his face is.

 

Then there comes a gasp of surprise, before one of his hands moves off your shoulder. So, feeling encouraged, you push against him even more to try and get him off you. 

 

But then, “F/N? F/N? _Please_ it’s me! It’s not him! It’s _me_!” comes Mycroft’s voice and you freeze, whilst your breath hitches in your chest. 

 

For you don’t understand. How can it be Mycroft when Moriarty was there just a moment ago? But then everything comes rushing back to you and you remember the hotel, and Mycroft, and oh _God_ …

 

So feeling ashamed you slump back against the headrest as you begin to cry. Whilst in the meantime, feeling more reassured that you won’t hit him again Mycroft leans across a little to switch the lamp on. 

 

It emits a soft glow at once and his eyes go to you immediately, before his heart constricts in his chest at the sight of you. For your face looks crumpled and broken as you cry, and wanting to comfort you, but not knowing how, he swings off you to sit back by your side. 

 

And as soon as he does you draw your knees up to your chest and hold them there, before you bury your head in them for a moment. But then you look back up because you feel like you can’t breathe, before you gasp, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” as frantic tears roll down your face. 

 

Yet, “You have nothing to apologise for,” Mycroft tells you firmly now. 

 

But, “H-He’s ruined everything,” you hiccup as you swipe your hand across your nose, before it drops back down again. 

 

So, “No he hasn't” Mycroft begins. 

 

But, “Yes he has,” you interrupt him persistently, because, “I can’t even cope with you holding me in your arms for one night without thinking that it’s him,” you explain, and as you finish you’re not looking at him. 

 

And Mycroft swallows now; for he wishes that it wasn't this way and that you could be at peace with everything. But it is and you’re not and he needs to help you in any way that he can. So he tears his eyes away from you and gets out of bed, and for a moment you panic because you think that he’s leaving you. But of course he isn't. For rather than leaving you he goes across to the middle shelf, picks up the handkerchief he gave you all that time ago, before he returns to you. 

 

Then once he’s sitting beside you again he passes it to you. And as you wipe your eyes on it gratefully he takes your free hand gently in his, before he tells you quietly, “From now on I want you to keep it with you, wherever you go, and if you feel like crying because of what happened or for some other reason then I want you to get it out and focus hard on my initials and know that even though I'm not with you at that moment that you’ll always be able to rely on me.” Then as you sniff and nod gratefully he lets go of your hand and shifts tentatively closer to you. So you move so that you can rest your head against his chest, and you can feel the faint thrum of his heartbeat underneath the thin material of his grey vest as you do so. 

 

Then as he puts his arm around you to hold you close to him and moves his free hand soothingly across your hair you begin to feel a little calmer. 

 

And you both stay like that for a few minutes, before Mycroft shifts his head slightly so that he can look down at you. Then he asks you, “Have you been having these nightmares often?” so you tense up a little, before your fingers begin to toy with the material of his vest.

 

But when you realize what you’re doing you stop and confess, “Most nights,” as offhandedly as you can. And a dark frown takes over Mycroft’s face as his eyes shift their gaze to stare at the wall opposite. Then when he doesn't speak and you look up at him and see how tense and troubled he looks on your behalf you ask, “Did I hurt you just now?” to try and distract him a little, and his face softens slightly as he looks back down at you, whilst he feels touched that you've asked such a thing when you've got every right to be selfish right now. 

 

Then, “No,” he murmurs as he runs a finger absent-mindedly down his cheek where there’s a red mark from where your elbow had made contact, before he concludes, “Though if it were to leave a lasting mark I would at least look more adventurous.” And then he muses, “Perhaps adventurous enough for Sherlock to let me join his little pirate crew,” and you snort a little now in spite of yourself, which makes him feel momentarily pleased. 

 

But his face soon turns serious once more when your head rests against his chest again and his eyes go back to staring at the wall. 

 

And even though you aren't looking at him you can sense that he’s gone back to brooding and you feel like you want to help him. In fact you feel like, more than ever before, you want to let him in, even though you know that properly doing such a thing means sharing more about what actually happened between Moriarty and you. So you ask, “Would you like me to tell you about the nightmare I had just now?” in an attempt to begin to do so. 

 

But he only tenses up even more, before he looks down at you as you move your head from his chest so that you can look up at him. Then, “Only if you want to do so,” he murmurs. 

 

So you nod, before you look away for a moment. Then you look back at him as you begin, “I dreamt that he was on top of me, pushing me down…” and as you let out a little uneven breath Mycroft tightens his grip on you, before you go on, “That he was everywhere, his hands…they were undressing me _a-and_ ”- and then you break off because the tears come more freely than ever before, whilst your breathing goes all jagged and even though you desperately want to carry on explaining and make him understand what you've been feeling and what you’re feeling right now you just can’t. But, because he understands such a thing, rather than pushing you to try and get the words that aren't ready to come out, out, he just holds you to him and so you bury your head in his chest, whilst you sob and your body trembles. 

 

Then he moves so that he’s in front of you, and as he holds you still he begins to rub soothing circles into your back with his hands. And it takes minutes, but slowly you get yourself under control once more and your breathing begins to grow more even. 

 

Then, once you’re able to pull your head back and both of you go back to just sitting beside each other once more he looks sideways across at you, before he says tersely, “It was even worse in reality though wasn't it?” as the full weight of what you've been through begins to hit him properly, and when you nod he holds you tightly to him. Then he growls, “Well he’s not here now, he’s gone.” But as you look up at him with doubt in your eyes he understands what you’re telling him silently at once so he says, “I know it might not feel like it, and I know you’ll always remember what he did but he’s gone.” And then he pauses, before he continues in a choked up kind of voice, “I know I've let you down, but if he came back now or any time in the future then there’s no way that I’d ever let him do that to you again.” And when you look at him, ready to tell him that he’s never let you down, your words die inside you, for the astonishment that you feel at seeing him cry completely takes them from you. Then he goes on vehemently, “I should have protected you better. I should have let you sleep in my room every night, o-or”- and as he breaks off a sudden understanding of what he's been through because of all this hits you so you move to sit on your knees in front of him, before you cup his cheek with your hand to try and soothe him.

 

Then, “He would have found me,” you tell him with a firm belief as you stare into his eyes, “You know he would have. And he would have either taken me off somewhere else to do what he did to me or he would have found some other way of punishing me,” and Mycroft nods now, his cheek pushing against your hand as he does so. And then he swallows several times to try and get himself back under control, but his tears still come nonetheless. So you draw his head down to your shoulder and his hands go to your back, whilst he cries. Then as you feel his body shake against yours a little from the effect of his tears you begin to comb one of your hands through his hair soothingly, whilst the other rubs against his shoulder. 

 

And for a few minutes you both just stay like that until once Mycroft calms down a little he huffs out a breath against your shoulder and draws his head up to say in a rather exasperated, bemused kind of way, “I'm supposed to be comforting you.”

 

But, “You are,” you tell him quietly yet fervently all the same and he gives you a kind of watery smile. 

 

Then he bends his head down to your shoulder once more, before he kisses it and you go back to holding each other again. 

 

And you don’t know how long you stay like that for. All you know is that it feels so good to be held by him and to be so close to him. 

 

Then he leans back a little so that he can look at you as he asks, “Would you like me to leave you on your own for the rest of tonight? Would you be more comfortable that way?” for he doesn't want to go back to holding you if it triggers another nightmare. 

 

But, “No, please stay,” you breathe, for you can only imagine that being alone will only make things worse right now and he nods, yet as you both slip down into bed once more he looks uncertain as to whether he should try and hold you again so you tell him, “It’s okay, I want you to hold me.”

 

“But if you have another nightmare”- Mycroft begins. 

 

So, “I’ll be fine really,” you tell him, because you don’t want Moriarty to have won and that’s exactly what he will have done if he pushes Mycroft and you further apart now. 

 

But Mycroft’s still worried so, “Maybe if the light was on”- he suggests. 

 

Yet, _“Please,”_ you interrupt him now, and as your voice cracks as you do so and more tears roll down your face he looks pained to have caused such a reaction in you. But still you go on, “Please don’t let him win”- 

 

And, “Oh, my dear I wasn't”- Mycroft begins, whilst he feels alarmed at your distressed state and annoyed with himself for making things even worse. But then he breaks off from trying to comfort you because he saw how your eyes flashed when he called you ‘my dear,’ and he doesn't understand why that’s caused such a reaction in you. So, “What is it?” he asks, and then when you look hesitant about telling him he says with a quiet desperateness in his voice, _“F/N?_ Please tell me, I’ll just do it again without realizing if I don’t know and the last thing I want to do is to upset you”-

 

But, “I _want_ you to do it again,” you tell him fervently, before you look at him and your eyes lock together, “I want you to call me that, it’s just…” and you trail off now. Then you look away, before you look slowly back at him as you say, “It’s just that’s what he thought you’d call me if we ever went out,” and then as surprise flickers through Mycroft’s eyes you go on, “He…well one night when he, when he was doing”- and as you break off now Mycroft’s eyes tell you that he knows what you mean. So, “He just taunted me with the idea, you know?” you begin, before you go on, “He just started to go through all the possible things that you might call me and rule them out, before he settled on that one,” and you can see the pained expression on his face and see the _‘Sorry,’_ forming on his lips now so, “I don’t want you to say you’re sorry, and I don’t want you to not call me that when you feel like doing so or to worry about it okay?” you tell him. And then when he nods a little hesitantly you say, “So we’re going to switch the light off now and you’re going to hold me and we’re going to fall asleep. And this time I'm not going to dream of him, I'm going to dream of us,” and you sound so determined and so fierce and beautiful that for a moment he just stares at you. Then, “Okay?” you ask and he nods quickly. 

 

So you smile a little at the stunned expression on his face and peck him briefly on the lips, before you turn to switch the light off. Then this time instead of turning your back to him you face him as you lie on your side, before you snuggle into his chest and breathe him in. And his arms go around you tentatively once more, before you close your eyes. 

 

* 

 

When you wake it is to find that you’re still tightly pressed against Mycroft’s chest and for a moment you just let out a little breath and breathe him in, feeling so glad for his presence and for the fact that you hadn't had another nightmare. Then you wriggle back a little, and as you do so you feel his hold on you loosen, and when you look at him it is to see that his eyes are open and he’s looking at you gently. 

 

So, “Morning, have you been awake long?” you ask him, still feeling sleepy. 

 

And, “Good morning,” he replies, before he kisses you briefly and then leans back a bit as he considers your question. Then, “No, not long,” he says, before when you nod he asks, “Shall we start to make our way back to university then?” 

 

Yet, “One more minute,” you tell him, before you snuggle close to him. So he holds you in his arms for a few minutes more, before slowly you pull away from each other and get out of bed. 

 

*

 

Once you’re dressed, you've had breakfast and your things are packed up ready to go you turn from doing the zip up on the last of your bags to where Mycroft’s standing close to the shelves as he waits for you. Then, making your mind up, you say, “Actually, if it’s okay with you, there’s somewhere I’d like to go, before we leave,” and thinking that he knows where you mean he just nods.

 

*

 

So that’s how half-an-hour later you find yourself pushing the cemetery gates open and weaving through them to step inside it. 

 

The sky’s dull today but it’s full of a shining white light from the sun’s rays too and it rather matches your mood. For everything that’s happened over the past few months is still very much on your mind and a part of your life that you haven’t managed to shake off yet, but what with everything that happened yesterday with Mycroft and going back to university today too, you feel like there’s finally some positive things starting to pierce the dark. 

 

And as Mycroft steps through to join you he makes to stay back and give you some privacy. But you take his hand loosely in yours, before when he looks at you, you tell him, “I’d like to introduce you if that’s okay.” Yet as soon as you've said it you feel silly so you sniff a bit, before you try to explain, “It’s the only way you’ll ever get to meet them after all.” Yet Mycroft doesn't seem to find the idea silly at all. For he just looks at you with his face serious but somehow gentle all at the same time, before he nods. 

 

Then you lead him across and down the winding path, before you go up the small slope to the right and near the end of the second row that you know your parents’ graves to be. 

 

And as you come to the single, grey headstone that marks them both you let go of his hand and crouch down. Then for a moment you just stare at both of their names, and as you do so the same feeling that you get every time you come here washes over you, which is that you can’t believe that they’re both already gone so soon in your life and that this is the only way that you’ll ever get to talk to them now. But you know with a heavy heart that it is, so you reach forwards and tug the old, wilting yellow carnations out and toss their remnants onto the ground. Then you replace them with the fresh, bright sunflowers that you’d bought on the way instead. And just seeing them looking so cheerful against the dull headstone makes you feel momentarily more cheerful yourself. But then everything washes over you once more so you blurt out, “You wouldn't be proud of me”-

 

Yet, “Actually, Mr. and Mrs. L/N I have to disagree with your daughter there,” Mycroft interrupts you smoothly and so you turn your head to look at him incredulously now. But he just gives you a little smile, before his eyes go back to the headstone once more as he says, “For I think you’d both be very proud of her.” And then you stand up and move beside him so that you can look at him properly as he talks, and he takes your hand in his as he goes on, “She’s come through something that no one should ever go through.”

 

Yet the look of admiration on his face for you makes you duck your head shyly and swing your linked hands back and forth for a moment. Then you swallow and tell the headstone, no your parents, “This is Mycroft, he’s my…” and as you trail off uncertainly now you look back at Mycroft for reassurance. For even after yesterday and how good he’d been with you last night and everything you still find it difficult to believe that someone like him could really want to go out with someone like you. 

 

Yet it appears he does for he takes your other hand so that both of your hands are in his, before he says, “I’ll be your boyfriend if you want me to be,” with his eyes on yours. And then as the biggest smile breaks across your face Mycroft’s heart soars, before he lets out a little breath as your hands pull away from his to cup his cheeks. Then his heart quickens its pace as you caress them for a moment, before it gives a little jolt in his chest as you lean up to plant your lips upon his. And he kisses you back with slow, lingering movements. 

 

Then when you pull away first you only do so a little so that your foreheads are still close together, before one of your hands drops down to his shoulder and the other curves around the nape of his neck to stroke the hairs there, whilst his hands stay on your waist. And for a moment you both just stay like that. Then you lean forwards to kiss him chastely once more, before you turn your head back to the headstone and smile a little as you say, “Anyway, so as I was saying this is Mycroft,” and your eyes go back to him now, before you go on, “And I'm not sure if he knows this but when we were both in hospital I went to see him,” and Mycroft’s lips part in surprise now, for he _didn't_ know that. So you go on, “But he was asleep,” and Mycroft closes his mouth and looks frustrated with himself now. Yet his face soon softens again when you continue, “And I thought that was the last time I’d get to see him. So I tried to tell him what I needed to,” and as Mycroft’s mouth opens as if he might speak you run a finger down over his lips to get him to remain silent. So he closes his mouth again, whilst he blinks. Then, “I thanked him for sticking by me right from the start, even though he had no reason to have so much faith in me, and for always trying to help me and be there for me,” you say, before you swallow, for you’re not sure if you’re ready to tell him when he can hear that you love him yet. It’s not that you don’t. It’s just that this is all new and you’re not yet ready to say it.

 

But he seems to understand and think that what you've already said is enough, for he breathes, _“F/N,”_ with wonder in his eyes as if he can’t quite believe that you've really just been so appreciative of him. 

 

Yet, “I mean it,” you tell him sincerely, before you add, “You've been my rock. I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true,” and then as tears roll down your face once more he leans forwards to pluck the handkerchief that has his initials on it from where he can see it peeking out of the pocket of your jeans. Then he wipes underneath your eyes with it gently so you let out a pleased but embarrassed kind of laugh. 

 

And once your tears are gone he lowers the handkerchief to cup your chin with it, before he kisses you tenderly. 

 

It’s as soft and sweet and desperate as your first kiss together was. And as you pull away slowly from each other both of your heads spin from the effect of it. So you let go of him and turn properly to face the headstone so that you might be able to think clearly once more. 

 

Then, “I'm going back to university today. So I'm not sure when I’ll be able to visit again but”- you begin. 

 

Yet, “Over the summer,” Mycroft interrupts you now without thinking so you look up at him. Then, with his mind made up, he draws himself up a little, before he goes on, “After the exams are over, if you want to, I’ll come back here with you,” and then he hesitates for a moment, before he goes on, “And, if it was something you think you’d like, then I'm sure you’d be most welcome to stay with my family for the summer.”

 

So, _“Really?”_ you breathe incredulously, and the expression on your face is both one that shows a mixture of shock and excitement. Then, “I could really do that? And no one would mind?” you ask. 

 

So, “Of course,” Mycroft says to your first point, and he already feels a thrill of excitement from the idea himself as his mind fills with all the things he must show you. Then, “I'm sure Mummy would be thrilled to have a guest to look after,” he goes on, before he adds, “And in any case she’d never forgive me if, knowing your circumstances, I didn't invite you.” Yet as your eyes flash with something he curses himself inwardly, before he goes on more hurriedly, “Oh I didn't mean…I just meant…I'm not inviting you just because of that, I _want_ to spend the summer with you, I can’t think of anything better in fact,” and as you look happier now he feels relieved that he seems to have managed to rescue the situation. 

 

Then, “Thank you,” you breathe, before your eyes go back to the headstone once more. But there’s nothing more to say, so you just nod. Then you begin to lead the way out of there and back to the hotel so that you can collect your things, before you go to the station. 

 

*

 

On the train it’s not long before the pair of you fall into silence, and at first it’s a comfortable one. But then as you tire of looking out of the window you look at Mycroft and wonder what he’s thinking. His face is serious but even all the same, as if he’s pondering over something. And as you go back over what’s already happened this morning you don’t think that it’s too much of a gamble to guess, “You’re thinking about something to do with my parents aren't you?”

 

And Mycroft jerks out of his thought with a start now, before he feels surprised that you knew that. Then, “Actually,” he begins, before he goes on cautiously, “I was just wondering what they thought of Moriarty,” and then as your eyes flash a little at the name he explains steadily, “He mentioned that he used to go over to your house that night at the swimming pool.”

 

So you nod slowly, before you ask him quietly, “What else did he mention?” 

 

And Mycroft takes your hand in his now and strokes it soothingly for a moment because he can see how tense you’re becoming. Then he answers you when he says, “He told me that he was already isolated from everyone when you first joined the school, and that you quickly became isolated too…he said that you were drawn together and then he went on to say about Carl and the kinds of things that he’d do to you both…then he said about the swimming competition.”

 

And, “What did you think when he was telling you all this?” you ask him tentatively as your heart beats unevenly in your chest and you peer up at him. 

 

So Mycroft swallows and his free hand fidgets on top of his trouser leg as he looks away from you. Then a moment later he says to his knees, “At first I wished that you’d never seen what you had. I wished that your race had gone on longer or that you simply hadn't gone to find Moriarty when you’d finished because then none of this would have happened. _But_ ”-

 

“Then I would have still been friends with him,” you interrupt him and he nods. And you can’t help but wonder, “Do you think I would have gone bad too?” as your eyes fix on the sight of his hand around yours. 

 

And Mycroft’s breath hitches in his chest at how vulnerable you sound, before he rubs circles into your hand with his thumb for a moment. Then he looks at you as he murmurs, “Maybe not. But I think there would have come a time, like there did in this instance, where you would have had to decide whether to stay by him or not. And, had you been any older than you were I think things might have grown more complicated between you, and that you wouldn't have been able to walk away from him quite as easily…” and as he finishes his eyes are on your fingers as he traces them with one of his own. 

 

And you don’t need for him to go on, for you can read between the lines enough to realize what he’s getting at. So you simply ask, “You think I would have fallen in love with him?” 

 

And Mycroft looks up at you and as his eyes meet yours he says as evenly as he can, “It’s like you said, you were best friends once,” and you can’t deny that. 

 

So you look away and then you say as your eyes fix on the empty train seat opposite, “We might never have met if things hadn't happened the way they did.” And then as Mycroft looks at you more intently you look back at him, before you go on, “He told me that he made sure my accommodation fell through and that I only ended up in the same house as you because he wanted to involve Sherlock in his game too…he said that Sherlock was the only one who ever thought there was something suspicious about the way Carl died.”

 

And Mycroft runs a weary hand across his face now because he wishes that you could have told him all that sooner. But then as he notices you looking at him worriedly he can’t help but want to reassure you just like he always does, so he reminds you, “Still we did meet,” and then he feels glad when he sees a small smile cross your face. Then as you shift to rest your head on his shoulder he wraps an arm around you so that he can hold you close. 

 

And when after a few minutes he peers down at you and notices that you look sleepy from the lack of sleep that you had the night before he murmurs, “You can sleep if you want. I promise I won’t leave you,” so you look at him gratefully, before you reach up to kiss his cheek. Then you close your eyes as you slide back down once more. 

 

And Mycroft watches as you fall slowly asleep. Then he observes you for a little longer, whilst he hopes that your sleep will be a dream free one. 

 

Then once you've been asleep for a little while he shifts ever so slightly to get his mobile phone out of his pocket so that he can send a text to Sherlock. And once he’s snuck it out successfully he peers down at you once more to check that he hasn't disturbed you. But thankfully you’re still and calm so he turns his attention back to his phone, before he sends: **On my way back with F/N. Will be back with you in time for lunch. Please let the others know, and, if you could try and make sure that they don’t say anything more than an apology to F/N today then it would be most appreciated. She’s been having nightmares and is still very delicate about the whole matter. So I feel that any large discussions that need to be had can wait, unless she breaches the matter herself. MH.** And he adds those last two and a bit sentences after a brief hesitation because he’s not sure you’d appreciate him doing so. Yet he’s determined to look after you now and if he can make things any easier for you in any way then he’s going to do so, whether you’d appreciate it if you found out about it or not. 

 

So he slips his phone back into his pocket and goes back to watching you.

 

*

 

You’re asleep for most of the journey yet in spite of that fact you’re both a little tired when you get off the train. 

 

But, a little later, as you turn the corner and see the house standing there you can’t help but feel a rush of energy burst through you. And it’s a mixture of both immense happiness that you’re finally back and nerves too, for will Molly and Greg really be as welcoming as Mycroft promised them to be? Yet still it’s the happiness that wins out overall and so for a moment you just drop the bags that you've been carrying by your feet and stare up at it. 

 

Then, “Welcome home,” Mycroft tells you with a satisfied kind of smile on his face as he shifts his grip on the bags of yours that he’s helping to carry so you turn your head to smile at him. 

 

And then, tentatively, when he gestures for you to go first, you make your way down the black stairs cautiously. Then when you reach the bottom you just put your things down for a moment to take a breath and Mycroft does the same. And when he puts a hand reassuringly on your shoulder you smile up at him again, before both of your heads turn at the sound of the door opening. 

 

It’s Molly and she rushes to you at once, before she pulls you into the biggest hug, and Mycroft lets go of your shoulder so that you can hug her back properly. 

 

Then, “Oh my God F/N! I'm so happy you’re back,” Molly says as she pulls away from you a bit so that she can look into your eyes, though she keeps her hands on your arms. Then, “I'm so, so sorry for what I did, can you forgive me?” she asks. 

 

So, “Of course,” you tell her, for although you still feel a bit hurt about how quickly both she and Greg had turned their backs on you falling out with anyone is the last thing you want to do right now. And Molly squeezes you gratefully, before she lets go of you. Whilst Mycroft in the meantime breathes a bit more freely at the fact that things, so far anyway, seem to be going as smoothly as they can be. 

 

Then when his hand automatically reaches for yours Molly eyes your joined hands for a moment, before an excited smile takes over her face as her eyes dart up to you both. Then she squeals, “Are you together now?” And then when you nod with a blush on your face she yells over her shoulder, “Oh my God! Greg! Greg! You have to come! They’re together now!” and though Mycroft’s embarrassed by her making such a scene you feel pleased when he doesn't let go of your hand, and when, if anything, he only tightens his grip on you. 

 

Greg staggers out of the house a moment later, holding his hands over his ears as he cries, “Good God woman I'm not deaf!” But then a moment later he releases them with a big grin on his face as his eyes go to you. Then, “Hey F/N,” he says, before he comes to give you a bear hug so Mycroft reluctantly lets go of your hand. Then once Greg pulls back a little from you he says with his hands just beneath your shoulders, “You’ll have to forgive me for before, all right? I really am sorry,” and you nod now so he smiles at you gratefully, before he lets go of you. Then he addresses Mycroft when he says, “It’s all right, she’s yours,” and as a faint flush crosses Mycroft’s face and he looks embarrassed Greg looks at you and says, “See? I knew he had dibs on you from the day you met,” before he winks at you. 

 

So, “I didn't, I never”- Mycroft splutters, before he cuts off as both Greg and Molly laugh. Then when he opens and closes his mouth a few times as if he wants to say something but can’t find the words you lean up to kiss his cheek. And he closes his mouth, before he smiles a little as he looks down at you. Then for a moment the pair of you just stare at each other, whilst both Molly and Greg look on in amusement. And then, coming back to reality once more, Mycroft clears his throat and tears his eyes away from you, before he asks, “Where’s Sherlock? I thought he’d be here?”

 

And Greg and Molly share another amused glance now, before Greg answers, “You’ll never guess what but he’s cooking. He decided to make a big lunch for us all.” And then as he and Molly help to take your things in, Mycroft and you exchange a look with raised eyebrows, before you follow them inside. 

 

Your bags get left close to the bottom of the stairs; you can take them up and unpack later. For now however there are more important matters to be dealt with, like witnessing Sherlock cooking on a day and a time that he’s not supposed to for one. 

 

And as soon as you reach the dining room the aroma of your favourite dinner hits you so you breathe it in, whilst your stomach begins to rumble. 

 

Then Sherlock turns away from the oven so you leave the others behind to go across and hug him. And to your surprise he hugs you back enthusiastically with his hands firm on your back. Then when you make to move away he only pulls you back, which causes Mycroft to frown and to clear his throat loudly from somewhere behind you. 

 

And it is only then, with a gleam in his eyes as he looks at his brother, that finally Sherlock lets go of you. Then he asks, “Ah, so you finally worked up the nerve to ask her out did you?” and Mycroft’s expression grows a little cool. But Sherlock’s not done yet. For, “What happened?” he asks, before he goes on, “Did you perhaps see her in the shower again and that _jerked_ you back into life enough to motivate you?” and Greg lets out a despairing groan, whilst Molly’s brow furrows, and she’s about to ask Greg what Sherlock means when Greg waves a hand at her not to.

 

Your eyes meanwhile go to Mycroft, and when they do you see that there’s an ugly flush on his face, and that he’s looking at Sherlock with something dark in his eyes. So, “What does he mean?” you ask, and your heart beats a little unevenly in your chest when Mycroft’s eyes shift to you. 

 

Then, “Maybe now’s not the time to be discussing such”- Mycroft begins hurriedly as he holds his hands up placatingly. 

 

But, “You left the door open when you went for a shower just before Christmas and my brother here walked in on you”- Sherlock fills you in. 

 

Yet, “I only saw your back, nothing else, I swear,” Mycroft tells you desperately, and there’s something pleading in his eyes. But he can tell that you’re still uncertain as to how to react to the whole thing so he goes on in a low voice, “I liked you in that way before that happened,” because even though it’s embarrassing for him to talk so openly to you about his feelings in front of an audience he needs you to know that he likes you for all of you, and not just because he wants to get into your pants as Greg had so tactfully put it just before the Christmas party. 

 

And you can see the sincerity in his eyes, and in any case you know that he’s not like that, he’s proved himself enough to you already. So, although the thought of it embarrasses you, instead of mentioning it again you look at Sherlock and ask, “How did you know what my favourite meal was?” and out of the corner of your eye you can see Mycroft’s shoulders slump slightly in relief, so you turn to smile reassuringly at him, before your eyes go back to Sherlock once more. 

 

Then, “The expression on your face when you ate it that first time with us here told me that it was,” Sherlock replies. 

 

So you smile at him more now, before you tell him, “Well thank you for making it.” 

 

Yet as you go back to stand beside Mycroft, Mycroft can see Sherlock taking in the sight of the now two couples before him and he can see the sudden spark of loneliness that flares through his eyes, before his face becomes unreadable once more. 

 

So when you, Greg and Molly go off to set the table Mycroft lingers behind a moment longer on the pretence of grabbing some extra cutlery just in case it’s needed, before he murmurs, “You should phone John, invite him to lunch with us,” and Sherlock freezes up for a moment, before he turns his head to look at him as excitement begins to grow in his eyes. Then he claps his brother on the shoulder gratefully and turns the heat of the oven down for a moment, before he goes out to the hallway, tugging his phone out of his pocket as he goes so that he can call John. 

 

And you smile up at Mycroft from where you’re setting some cutlery down as he joins you. Then after he kisses you on the cheek you tell him, “That was a nice thing you did just now.”

 

So Mycroft’s heart flips pleasantly in his chest, before he murmurs, “I guess it was, wasn't it?” which makes you smile even more. Whilst Molly beams at how cute the pair of you are being together and Greg grins at how happy Molly is. 

 

Then Sherlock returns to the kitchen a moment later with a smile toying on his lips. And John arrives just twenty minutes later with a bottle of wine in his hands, a chaste kiss for Sherlock-which Mycroft watches with an odd expression on his face as if the sight is both an odd one and one that intrigues him-and a hug for you. 

 

Then, “It’s good to have you back,” he tells you sincerely when he pulls away, his hug having thankfully been a lot shorter than Sherlock’s was much to Mycroft’s relief. 

 

Lunch is ready a few minutes later and as you all take your usual chairs-with an extra one having been drawn up beside Sherlock for John-and begin to tuck in, a wave of happiness begins to spread all over you. And it only increases when you look around at everyone and take them all in. For Greg’s talking animatedly to John about football and Sherlock’s interrupting them every now and again to make some smart, waspish remark, though you can tell from the way his eyes light up every time John looks at him that he’s only doing it in jest and more to get John’s attention than to be annoying and you can’t help but smile. Whilst Molly meanwhile is telling Mycroft about the book she just finished reading and he’s nodding and responding in between chewing mouthfuls of food. And suddenly, as you feel a love for them all swell in your chest, you realize that it’s perhaps not just this house that makes you feel like you’re home but these people too. 

 

And this feeling of contentment and warmth only grows inside you even more when, after lunch and the washing up is abandoned, you all move to sit in the living room. There Sherlock curls up in the armchair, whilst John half-leans and half-sits on the arm of said chair with a can of beer that he got from the fridge in his hands, Greg and Molly sit on the floor with Greg’s back against the settee and his hands around Molly’s waist, who sits in between his legs, and you take up most of the settee; your legs sprawled off to the side of you, whilst you lean against Mycroft who runs one hand absent-mindedly through your hair. And as you all talk together whilst afternoon becomes evening and evening becomes night you feel like you’d be happy for the rest of your life if you could stay like that forever. 

 

* 

 

The next day when you get woken up from a thankfully dreamless sleep by _‘Yo Ho A Pirate’s Life For Me,’_ which is blaring out from the CD player downstairs you smile, before you get out of bed, dress hurriedly and make your way downstairs. 

 

And as soon as you enter the dining room you find Sherlock, wearing a paper hat on his head, and John with a toy sword in his belt, dancing together wildly to the music that can be clearly heard from the living room where it’s coming from. Yet as soon as John spots you he stops dancing, grins and beckons you over so that he might dance with you instead. 

 

And the sound of your laughter as you dance with John, whilst Sherlock does some sort of jig beside you both, draws a fully dressed Mycroft out of his room. Then when he sees how happy you look he smiles at once, before unable to resist he goes across to you. And as John and you let go of each other a little breathlessly Mycroft offers you his hand and asks, “May we?”

 

So, “We may,” you tell him as you take his hand, whilst a small smile toys around your lips. And he can’t help but feel pleased, not only by the presence of such a smile, but because of how your eyes seem to sparkle with something that wasn't there when you were dancing with John just now.

 

So he draws you a little away from Sherlock and John, before he places his free hand upon your waist, whilst you place yours upon his shoulder. 

 

Then as you begin to move together and dance inappropriately slowly for the song’s pace, though neither of you care, you can’t help but say, “I didn't think you’d want to dance to this kind of song.”

 

And something playful flits across Mycroft’s eyes for a moment, before he says rather teasingly, “Didn't you know that this is my favourite song?” and as you let out a snort he can’t help but smile. 

 

Then, “Says the man who wouldn't even join the Pirate Society,” you can’t help but reply, before you still a moment later as he leans down to kiss you just as Greg and Molly enter the room. And as they let out cheers at the sight, John wolf-whistles in the background and Sherlock no doubt rolls his eyes you can’t help but smile into the kiss, whilst Mycroft makes a satisfied sound of approval in his throat.

 

Then after the two of you pull away from each other and blush and smile awkwardly at your now clapping audience you both go across to begin to prepare breakfast. 

 

And once everything’s all set on the table you both sit down together in your usual seats, before your smile grows as you take in the sight of Sherlock and John dancing together and Molly and Greg doing the same.

 

Yet when Mycroft catches your expression he feels at once that he wants to be included in whatever you’re currently thinking about so, “What is it?” he asks and your eyes go to him. 

 

Then you take in his soft, gentle expression and how beautiful he looks for a moment, before you tell him, “I think everything’s going to be all right now.” And feeling so happy that already you feel so positive about the future he tangles your legs with his.

 

Then he looks around at everyone, before his gaze goes back to you once more, and then he replies, “Yes, I think it is.” And you both smile at each other, before you shift across a bit so that you can rest your head against his shoulder and have a better view of everyone as you do so. 

 

Then as he bends to kiss the top of your head you feel even more certain that everything will be all right.

 

For you can't know that in just a few hours time you'll look back on this current glorious extended moment of hope and think yourself incredibly naive as the effects from the storm that Moriarty's created are far from over...


End file.
